| She walks like her old man, over active and thin
|
| She laughs at all the same things, that makes her father grin
|
| She’s only 15, no brothers in her clan
|
| And her father calls her Cydi, his right hand man
|
| She can drive a tractor, or curse a useless dog
|
| Shear a sheep, strain a fence or cut a nine foot log
|
| She was meant to be a boy, it didn’t go to plan
|
| But her father loves his Cydi, his right hand man
|
| But the boys in the town today are turning their heads
|
| Is that really Cydi, that tomboy kid of Ed’s?
|
| She used to kick the footy, win every race we ran
|
| Ed knew the world was changing, for his right hand man
|
| You won’t find her in the kitchen, she won’t make her bed
|
| She’d rather make a sheep grate with a welder in the shed
|
| Or just be out there in the bush doing what she can
|
| Just being with her father, his right hand man
|
| And her mother takes her shopping, it’s time she bought a dress
|
| Looking in the mirror, «Not bad» she must confess
|
| But I’d rather have that pair of jeans and boots if I can
|
| She’s still her father’s Cydi, his right hand man
|
| And the boys in the town today are turning their heads
|
| Is that really Cydi, that tomboy kid of Ed’s?
|
| She used to kick the footy, win every race we ran
|
| Ed knew the world was changing, for his right hand man
|
| Yet her father loved his Cydi, his right hand man |