He sat by the door
Of the grand old
Birdsville Pub
His swag and gear 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
There was legend
in the lines
Of his weather beaten face
Those eyes had seen
a lot of changes
In the Aussie race
The passing
of the horseman
The death of an ace
Seems to me he's doubts
That we've turned
a better page
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'd listen
The more I realized
This is where country is
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
Ridin' flat out in the night
Tryin' to ring the mob
'Cause lightning's
quick to fright
And he sang loudly
And proudly of our
pioneering ladies
And I suspect
That one such
lass was his
Home in this early
frontier country
Was lonely dirt floor
Humphrey
No doubt about it
This man knows
where country is
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 for his country
Rang true in every song
And I wondered
If the chips were down
I would be as strong
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'd listen
The more I realized
This is where country is
Yes mate
We're so far
from the city here
You know what
This is where country is
Dust storms, flies