For a starter of description just to get the picture right
Bowlegged, bold and lively, 5 foot 8 or 9 in height
Of stocky build, complexion dark, his age slow on the rise
A smiling face and light grey hair and pale blue western eyes.
A tough old stag he rolled his swag when itchy feet took over
His place of birth? Well I dunno where the Mitchell grasses grow
But I kinda get the notion as I carry on this ride
It was somewhere in the sand hills near the channel country side
Oh he'll make your b***** hair stand up with something that occurred
And so unrealistic that at first you doubt his word
Every story is a boomer full of action, laughs and strength
Why he'd stretch the Diamantina or the Cooper twice their length
For years he was a drover in the days of bells and packs
From the Canning to the Murranji and down the Birdsville track
He was reared on ribs and brisket; don't go in for fancy stuff
And I guess that's just the reason he's so rugged hard and rough
[Spoken] yeah he's rough alright, like my guitar playin'
When he rides around the cattle restless nights as black as ink
Summer nights or freezing winter Scobie loves a rum to drink
Oh I'd like to have the money that he's spent on booze and games
I could buy a cattle station and a brewery with the change
Half Australia's coloured stockmen, that's including women too
Will remember this old codger when their boomerangs were new
They rode through scrub and lignum where a dog could never bark
Flushing out defiant mickies, missing none though it was dark
Yeah for years he was a drover in the days of bells and packs
From the Canning to the Murranji and down the Birdsville track
He was reared on ribs and brisket; don't go in for fancy stuff
And I guess that's just the reason he's so rugged hard and rough
[Spoken] Here I go again now, all these fancy guitars mmmmhmmm
When he's drinking in the city townies grip the bar and laugh
He's a drover just delivered sand goannas all in calf
And when he tells a tall one, it's Kosciusko high
Then quickly change direction and almost make you cry
When the Southern Cross and diamond tail at night illuminate
I often think of Scobie waitin' outside heavens' gate
With his saddlebag and quartpot and branding iron worn thin
Oh I'll bet he'll con St Peter and the old man lets him in.
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From the album: "West of Winton"
Songwriters/Composers: Joe Daly;
Bowlegged, bold and lively, 5 foot 8 or 9 in height
Of stocky build, complexion dark, his age slow on the rise
A smiling face and light grey hair and pale blue western eyes.
A tough old stag he rolled his swag when itchy feet took over
His place of birth? Well I dunno where the Mitchell grasses grow
But I kinda get the notion as I carry on this ride
It was somewhere in the sand hills near the channel country side
Oh he'll make your b***** hair stand up with something that occurred
And so unrealistic that at first you doubt his word
Every story is a boomer full of action, laughs and strength
Why he'd stretch the Diamantina or the Cooper twice their length
For years he was a drover in the days of bells and packs
From the Canning to the Murranji and down the Birdsville track
He was reared on ribs and brisket; don't go in for fancy stuff
And I guess that's just the reason he's so rugged hard and rough
[Spoken] yeah he's rough alright, like my guitar playin'
When he rides around the cattle restless nights as black as ink
Summer nights or freezing winter Scobie loves a rum to drink
Oh I'd like to have the money that he's spent on booze and games
I could buy a cattle station and a brewery with the change
Half Australia's coloured stockmen, that's including women too
Will remember this old codger when their boomerangs were new
They rode through scrub and lignum where a dog could never bark
Flushing out defiant mickies, missing none though it was dark
Yeah for years he was a drover in the days of bells and packs
From the Canning to the Murranji and down the Birdsville track
He was reared on ribs and brisket; don't go in for fancy stuff
And I guess that's just the reason he's so rugged hard and rough
[Spoken] Here I go again now, all these fancy guitars mmmmhmmm
When he's drinking in the city townies grip the bar and laugh
He's a drover just delivered sand goannas all in calf
And when he tells a tall one, it's Kosciusko high
Then quickly change direction and almost make you cry
When the Southern Cross and diamond tail at night illuminate
I often think of Scobie waitin' outside heavens' gate
With his saddlebag and quartpot and branding iron worn thin
Oh I'll bet he'll con St Peter and the old man lets him in.
--------------------------------------------------
From the album: "West of Winton"
Songwriters/Composers: Joe Daly;