VERSE 1 He sat by the door of the grand old Birdsville Pub His swag and gear was guarded by a faithful heeler dog He wore a shirt that would blind ya and a rumpled ringers hat This old man was country, he left no doubt of that Well he sang of mobs of cattle moving down the Birdsville track And the camels carting wool in the early days outback He sang of wild eyed scrubbers runnin' flat out in the night Tryin' to ring the mob cause the lightnin's quick to fright He sat there hillbilly pickin' on a cracked and battered Gibson And the songs that he sang were all his Every song told a story and the more that I listened The more I realised this is where country is VERSE 2 Well his songs told how they did it and I felt a sense of shame And I wondered if the battler would ever be again His pride in his country rang true in every song And I wondered if the chips were down if I ever would be as strong REPEAT CHORUS _______________________________THE END___________________________

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