| From the sunburnt plains of far off North Australia
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| Came a fella born to ride the wide brown land
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| Oh he grew up running wild
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| But soon by all was styled
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| As the country’s greatest-ever droving man
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| Oh his legend rode the winds from Broome to Darwin
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| They loved and loathed him right from end to end
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| For when the drover gave his heart
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| To a girl whose skin was dark
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| From that day on he was no white man’s friend
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| chorus
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| So goes The Drover’s story, you’ll hear it near and far
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| And in the end it’s all he’ll ever own
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| It says the outcast is a free man
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| If he sleeps under the stars
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| Makes the blanket of the southern skies his home
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| Then they called him up to fight for Mother England
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| In a far off war that spilled his brother’s blood
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| Inside the jaws of Hell
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| Where both his brothers fell
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| He just watched his faith in man die in the mud
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| There was no hero’s welcome for The Drover
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| Just a country that had turned its back on him
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| When he came home from the war
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| His sick wife, they would not cure
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| They let her die, for the colour of her skin
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| The Drover is a man of constant shadows
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| Haunted by his pain, his past and name
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| For every mile he rides
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| What he cannot hide,
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| Is the longing in his heart to love again |