| How I long to return to the gulf land
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| Where I rode with the Campbells years ago
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| Where the Mitchel grass is growing
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| And the south wind is blowing
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| To the land where the big guff rivers flow
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| When the stock went overland
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| And with bronco ropes we’d brand
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| And the pack horses followed us around
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| We would sleep beneath the stars
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| And eat beneath the Coolibahs
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| Our dampers cooked in a hole dug in the ground
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| The tailers tail the horses
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| Along the water course
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| And brought them to the camp by break of day
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| As the morning star was rising
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| We’d be saddled up and riding
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| To muster up the fats to send away
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| How I long to return to the gulf land
|
| Where I rode with the Campbells years ago
|
| Where the Mitchel grass is growing
|
| And the south wind is blowing
|
| To the land where the big guff rivers flow
|
| Instrumental
|
| We would muster on the plains
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| Without the help from aeroplanes
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| There was no drafting yards or loading ramps
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| And we’d hold them in a mob
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| Whilst the Campbells did his job
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| We’d draft them on the open cattle camp
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| We would take them up the river
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| To the place where we deliver
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| And watch them on the boundry overnight
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| In that cold and windy weather
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| We would hold that mob together
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| And hand them to the drover at first light
|
| How I long to return to the gulf land
|
| Where I rode with the Campbells years ago
|
| Where the Mitchel grass is growing
|
| And the south wind is blowing
|
| To the land where the big guff rivers flow
|
| Big rivers you know Charlie big gull rivers |