From the window of my city home I hear the whistle whine,
Of the outbound western mail train, as she thunders out on time,
From a room that overlooks the lights and the breakers white with foam,
I listen while my old mate snowy sings a song of home.
Just an old man with an old guitar and a voice that's cracked and dry,
And a million songs and stories, of the golden days gone by,
When through that magic wonderland of the great outback we'd roam,
My thoughts go back along the track when Snowy sings of home.
Oh the station mobs from Coopers Plains when the drought was on the land,
And we drove them down through Birdsville, on a track of blazin' sand.
And the shearing sheds at Goolagong and the woolshed hops at night,
Oh the girls we loved and left behind come dancing back tonight.
The Branding fires at Barradean, the timber camps at Kew,
With the butcher birds at dawning, making diamonds in the dew.
Oh the storm birds cry and the wheat waves high in the fields of golden loam,
The ghosts of old mates gather round when snowy sings of home.
[Instrumental/Yodel]
Then I close the door behind me, in the tellys flickering light.
I see Mary and the happy kids in bedtime clothes oh so white.
Their laughter rings out gaily and the babies' bright eyes shine,
All the tender ties that bind me to a life that isn't mine.
But those days have gone forever and they've left me in their stead,
The garden and the bundy clock, and slippers by my bed.
Though the great mobs go on tramping, miles of Mitchell grass to roam,
I can let them go I'm happy till Snowy sings of home.
[Yodel/Instrumental]
Just an old man with an old guitar squint eyes and s***gy mane,
Who shared those days of glory, that will never come again.
In a wonderland of dust and sand where fancy longs to roam,
But I never dare to wander there till when snowy sings of home.
[Yodel]
--------------------------------------------------
From his album: "A Land He call's His Own" Disc 2.
Of the outbound western mail train, as she thunders out on time,
From a room that overlooks the lights and the breakers white with foam,
I listen while my old mate snowy sings a song of home.
Just an old man with an old guitar and a voice that's cracked and dry,
And a million songs and stories, of the golden days gone by,
When through that magic wonderland of the great outback we'd roam,
My thoughts go back along the track when Snowy sings of home.
Oh the station mobs from Coopers Plains when the drought was on the land,
And we drove them down through Birdsville, on a track of blazin' sand.
And the shearing sheds at Goolagong and the woolshed hops at night,
Oh the girls we loved and left behind come dancing back tonight.
The Branding fires at Barradean, the timber camps at Kew,
With the butcher birds at dawning, making diamonds in the dew.
Oh the storm birds cry and the wheat waves high in the fields of golden loam,
The ghosts of old mates gather round when snowy sings of home.
[Instrumental/Yodel]
Then I close the door behind me, in the tellys flickering light.
I see Mary and the happy kids in bedtime clothes oh so white.
Their laughter rings out gaily and the babies' bright eyes shine,
All the tender ties that bind me to a life that isn't mine.
But those days have gone forever and they've left me in their stead,
The garden and the bundy clock, and slippers by my bed.
Though the great mobs go on tramping, miles of Mitchell grass to roam,
I can let them go I'm happy till Snowy sings of home.
[Yodel/Instrumental]
Just an old man with an old guitar squint eyes and s***gy mane,
Who shared those days of glory, that will never come again.
In a wonderland of dust and sand where fancy longs to roam,
But I never dare to wander there till when snowy sings of home.
[Yodel]
--------------------------------------------------
From his album: "A Land He call's His Own" Disc 2.