| There’s a happy little valley on the Eumerella Shore
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| Where I lingered many happy hours away
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| On my little preselection I have acres by the score
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| Where I unyoked the bullocks from the dray
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| To my bullocks then I say no matter where you stray
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| You will never be impounded anymore
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| For you’re running, running, running on the duffers piece of land
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| Pre-selected on the Eumerella Shore
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| When the moon has climbed the mountain and the stars are very bright
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| We will saddle up our horses and away
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| And we’ll yard the squatter’s cattle in the darkness of the night
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| And we’ll have the mob all branded by the day
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| To his cattle then we’ll say, no matter where you strayed
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| You will never be impounded anymore
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| For you’re running, running, running on the duffers piece of land
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| Pre-selected on the Eumerella Shore
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| If we find a mob of horses when the paddock rails are down
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| Though before they were never known to stray
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| We will yard them up and drive them to some distant inland town
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| And we’ll sell them into slavery far away
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| To Jack Robertson we’ll say, «We are on a better lay
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| And we’ll never go a farmin' anymore
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| For it’s easier duffin' cattle on that little piece of land
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| Pre-selected on the Eumerella Shore |