| Ah you mention in your letter that there’s blue grass belly high
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| That there’s clover on the Cooper once again
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| And I read too that the brumbies are just like they used to be
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| When we mustered on the Arrabury plains
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| So you’re mustering down the river where the minaritchie grows
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| And the lignum almost barricades the sun
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| Where we used to strike the mickys full of cheek and quick to charge
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| Where we used to toss the brumbies just for fun
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| Oh your letter brings back memories of the good times that we shared
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| And your mention of Gillpippy makes me smile
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| For I think about the new chum and your story of the ghost
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| Which made that new chum touchy for a while
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| In my mind I see a dust cloud from 6000 marching feet
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| And the scent of Cooper clover comes to me
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| And the soft voice of a stockman as he lulls a mob to sleep
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| Oh how your letter takes me back to Arrabury
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| Oh I see the station homestead with its stately pepper trees
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| And the old stockyard built of timbers that will last
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| I can picture colts unbroken being drafted by the boys
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| Oh mate your letter stirs up memories of the past
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| And you say the sandhill flowers full of colour are ablaze
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| And the desert pea is blooming once again
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| Mate your letter paints a picture of the good times in our lives
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| When we mustered on the Arrabury plains
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| So in my home tonight in Brisbane I am answering your note
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| And do not smile mate if this paper’s showin' stains
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| For I’m havin' trouble seeing through a misty kind of haze
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| Like the dust out on the Arrabury plains |