D                       E7
Oh it's lonesome away from your kindred and all 
       A7                                      D          
By the campfire at night where the wild dingos call 
                                    E7
But there's nothin' so lonesome, morbid or drear 
        A7                                D
Than to stand in the bar of a pub with no beer 

Now the publican's anxious for the quota to come 
There's a faraway look on the face of the bum 
The maid's gone all cranky and the cook's acting queer 
What a terrible place is a pub with no beer 

The stockman rides up with his dry, dusty throat 
He breasts up to the bar, pulls a wad from his coat 
But the smile on his face quickly turns to a sneer 
When the barman says sadly: "The pub's got no beer!" 

Then in comes the swagman, all covered with flies 
He throws down his roll, wipes the sweat from his eyes 
But when he is told he says, "What's this I hear? 
I've trudged fifty flamin' miles to a pub with no beer!"

There's a dog on the verandah, for his master he waits 
But the boss is inside drinking wine with his mates 
He hurries for cover and he cringes in fear 
It's no place for a dog round a pub with no beer 

Old Billy, the blacksmith, the first time in his life 
Has gone home cold sober to his darling wife 
He walks in the kitchen; she says: "You're early, Bill dear" 
Then he breaks down and he tells her that the pub's got no beer 

So it's lonesome away from your kindred and all 
By the campfire at night where the wild dingos call 
But there's nothin' so lonesome, so dull or so drear 
Than to stand in the bar of a pub with no beer