He grabbed me by my slender neck,
I could not call or scream;
He took me to his darkened tent
Where we could not be seen.
He tore from me my flimsy wrap,
He gazed upon my form,
I was so frightfully cold and damp
And he so delightfully warm.
He pressed his feverish lips to mine,
I gave him every drop;
He took from me my very soul,
I could not make him stop.
Through him I’m like I am today,
That’s why I’m lying here,
Just a broken bottle now
That once was full of beer.
— Traditional ditty collected by Kath Anderson in Bill Wannan’s Come in Spinner