Trumby was a ringer
A good one too at that
He could rake
and ride a twister
Throw a rope
and fancy plait
He could counterline
a saddle
Track a man
lost in the night
Trumby was a good boy
But he
couldn't read or write
Trumby was dependable
He never took to beer
The boss
admired him so much
One day
made him overseer
It never went to
Trumby's head
He didn't boast or skite
Trumby was a good boy
But he
couldn't read or write
The drought was
on the country
And grass in short supply
The tanks were
getting lower
And the water holes
near dry
Cattle started dying
And relief was not insight
To estimate the losses
Trum by
couldn't read or write
He rode around the station
Pulling cattle from the bog
To save them
being torn apart
By eagles, crows and dogs
He saw a notice on a tree
It wasn't there last night
Trumby tried to understand
But he couldn't
read or write
On bended knee
down in the mud
Trumby had a drink
Swung the reigns
and to his horse
Said "We go home I think"
"Tell 'im boss
about the sign
'im read 'im good alright"
"One day boss's
missus teach 'im
Trumby read and write"
Well concern was felt
for Trum by
He hadn't used his bed
Next day beside that
muddy hole
They found the ringer dead
And a piece of tin
tied to a tree
Then caught the
boss's eye
As he read the words of
'Poison Here'
And signed by Dogger Bry
Now the stock had never
used that hole
Along that stoney creek
And Trumby's
bag was empty
It has frayed
and sprung a leak
The dogs were there
in hundreds
And the dogger in his plight
Told the boss he never
knew poor Trumby
Couldn't read or write
Now Trumby was a ringer
As solid as a post
His skin was black
but his heart was white
and that's what
matters most
Of times I think
how sad it is
In this world with
all its might
That a man like
Trumby met his death
Because he couldn't
read or write
Couldn't read or write
Couldn't read or write