As I write this little story, I may be feelin' blue, For the swag is wet and sodden and the fly has blown in too, The rain is comin' heavy and the wind is very chill, And I sometimes feel like howling, with the dingo's on the hill.
There's a joke that comes from memory, it was written long ago, "The drovers life has pleasures that the townsfolk never know" When you're sitting on a night horse, on a dark and stormy night, You see the white horns glis'n in the lightning's silvery light. (oh yeah)
The thunder clashes 'round you and you're soakin' to the skin, Tonguing for some nicotine for you've done y'ur tobacco in, You sit out there and wonder, if they jump which way they'll go. Yeah the drover's life has pleasures that the townsfolk never know.
Oh they say it must be thrilling, out beneath the desert stars,
When your only sole companions just a mob of mad galahs. And when you eat the babblers browning, oh, it's best to close your eyes, For it's hard to tell the diff'rence between the currants and the flies. (that's right now)
When the feed is very scanty and the water hole is dry, The squatter's sittin' on ya back, it's enough to make you cry, When you battle down a dusty stake to a bore that's broken down, Or a tank shot full of bullet holes by yokels from the town.
Oh they wonder why you hit the grog and curse their lousy station, Why many a man has cut his throat, in sheer desperation, So you reckon that you'll chuck it in an' give something else a go, Yeah the drover's life has pleasures that the townsfolk never know.
Oh I sometimes rather doubt it, but then I wouldn't know, They say this life has pleasures that the townsfolk never know. (oh yeah)Teksty umieszczone na naszej stronie są własnością wytwórni, wykonawców, osób mających do nich prawa.
