Come gather round you diggers who work the goldfields rare, It's of a trick was played on me which caused me to despair, I came to town the other day my hard earned gold to trade, 'Twas there I met a pretty maid, who did my heart betray. Her lips were red as roses, her eyes a deep sky blue, Her hair as yellow as the gold, she stole from me and you.
She took me to a public house and there we did imbibe, In whiskey and strong porter, and dreadful stuff besides, It's then she asked me up to bed, to which I did agree, But truth to tell I fell asleep, before she earned her fee.
When I awoke next morning, no trousers could I find, But scattered all around me were women's clothes so fine. My jacket, shoes and gold had gone, and all that's left behind, Is a woman's dress, a yellow wig and a shaving kit, not mine.
Why did she need the wig? Why did she need to shave? It's then the truth it struck me, in a fit of blinding rage. My pretty maid's a man I cried, be thanks I fell asleep, I'd rather lose a bag of gold, than face that dirty creep.
To venture in the street again, I cautiously inclined, I had a shave, put on the wig, and wore the dress so fine, And as I walked along the road, a digger gave a wink. I thought of all the gold he had, so I offered him a drink.
Now you might think it sinful, oh you might think it bold, To take advantage of the lads who struggle for the gold. It's easy putting on a dress and drinking whiskey neat, But leave your shaving kit behind when they are fast asleep.