| A strapping young stockman lay dying
|
| His saddle supporting his head
|
| All around him his comrades were standing
|
| As he raised on his pillow and said
|
| Wrap me up with my stockwhip and blanket
|
| And bury me deep down below
|
| Where the dingoes and crows can’t molest me
|
| In the shade where the coolibahs grow
|
| Then cut down a couple of saplings
|
| Place one at my head and my toe
|
| Carve on them stockwhip and saddle
|
| Just to show there’s a stockman below
|
| Wrap me up with my stockwhip and blanket
|
| And bury me deep down below
|
| Where the dingoes and crows can’t molest me
|
| In the shade where the coolibahs grow
|
| Give one guy my saddle and blanket
|
| Give Billy my bullets of lead
|
| These two dark friends of my childhood
|
| May remember a stockman s last bed
|
| Wrap me up with my stockwhip and blanket
|
| And bury me deep down below
|
| Where the dingoes and crows can’t molest me
|
| In the shade where the coolibahs grow
|
| There’s tea in the battered old billy
|
| Place the pannikins out in a row
|
| And we’ll drink to the next merry meeting
|
| In the place where all good fellows go
|
| Wrap me up with my stockwhip and blanket
|
| And bury me deep down below
|
| Where the dingoes and crows can’t molest me
|
| In the shade where the coolibahs grow
|
| Hi lee oh layee, oudle layee dee, oudle layee dee |