Some old songs from a country pub

[Korto]

These are a couple of "songs" I remember from my childhood, must have been around 8, and we were staying at an old country pub where mum was working. They're not sung, but rythmically spoken (perhaps "chanted" is a better description), accompanied by a strumming guitar. Don't know the names, or the writer.

It was in the Queensland drought, and over hill and dell,
No grass, the water far apart, all dry, and hot as hell.
A wretched bullock team pulled up beside a water hole
They'd struggled on through dust and drought for days, to reach this goal.
And though the water rendered forth a rank, unholy stench
The bullocks and the bullockees drank deep, their thirst to quench.
And two of the drivers cursed and swore, as only drivers can,
And the other one named Daniel, best known as Holy Dan
Admonished them and said it was the Lord's all wise decree
And if they only watch and wait, a change they'd swiftly see.

It was strange that of Dan's bullocks, not one had gone a-loss
But this he said was due to prayer, and supplication of.
At last one died, but Dan was calm, he hardly seemed to care.
He knelt before the bullock's corpse, and offered up a prayer.
One bullock thou has taken Lord,
And so it seemest best.
Thy Will be done, but see my need,
And spare to me the rest

A month went by, Dan's bullocks now were dying every day.
But still on each occasion would the faithful fellow pray.
Another thou has taken Lord,
And so it seemest best.
Thy will be done, but see my need,
And spare to me the rest

And still they camped beside that hole, and still it never rained,
And still Dan's bullocks died and died, till only one remained.
Then Dan broke down, good Holy Dan
The man who never swore.
He knelt beside the latest corpse, and here's the prayer he tore.
That's nineteen you've taken Lord, and now you'll plainly see,
You better take the bloody lot! One's no damn good to me!
The other drivers laughed so much, they shook the sky around.
The lightning flashed, the thunder roared
And Holy Dan, was drowned.

-----------------------

I camped one night in an empty hut, on the side of a lonely hill
I didn't go much on that empty hut, but the night was awful chill
So I boiled my billy, and had my tea, and made sure the door was shut
And I went to sleep in the empty bunk, on the wall of that old slab hut.

It must have been in the middle of the night, when I was feeling all cosy and warm
I awoke and at the foot of my bunk, I saw a horrible ghostly form.
It seemed in shape to be half an ape, with a head like a chimpanzee
And I wondered what it was doing there, and what it would want with me.

You may say if you please that I had DT's, or call me a crimson liar
But I wish you had seen it as plain as me, with eyes like coals of fire
Then it gave a groan, such a horrible moan, that my blood ran cold with fear
And there's only the two of us here, it said, There's only the two of us here

Well, I kept one eye on the old hut door, and one on the awful brute,
For I only wanted to dress myself, and get through the door and scoot
But I couldn't see where I had left my boots, so I hadn't a chance to clear
And there's only the two of us here, it said, There's only the two of us here

I hadn't a thing to defend myself, couldn't find a stick nor a stone
And there's only the two of us here, it said, again, with a horrible moan
Well, I thought I better make some reply, for I thought that the end was near!
I said, Tarzan, old man, when I find my boots, by hell there'll be only one of us here!

Well, I laid my hands on my number tens, and out through the door I scoot
And I lit the whole of the ridges up, with the sparks from my Blueshire boots
And I haven't been in that hut since then, and I tremble and shake with fear!
When I think of the horrible brute that moaned, There's only the two of us here

[The_Saint]

Sound suspicously like they've been kicking around the mulga for near two hundred years... second one sounds like something of bunyip lore. I've got soem books with such poetry in it but they (the songs) may be so old the author would be credited as "Jacko who cooked at the Henley farmstead out past Oodnadatta"