| You may talk of the ringer from Queensland,
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| The big shearing gun from the west,
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| They are men who have proven their value,
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| Whenever they’re put to the test,
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| But if you ever look to the mountains,
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| And the south where it snows and it rains,
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| Have you thought of the men from the Snowy,
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| And the cattlemen from the high plains.
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| From the high plains away above Dargo
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| In the alps where the snow daisy grows.
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| Where the wild mountain herds are grazin'
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| Beneath the shadow of mountains of snow,
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| Where the cattlemen searched every cranny,
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| When they muster at each summer’s end,
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| In their rain batter hats and their oil skins,
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| From the high plains, come real cattlemen,
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| They’re a part of Australia’s history,
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| Their heritage all be the same,
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| If nobody cares what is happn’nin',
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| To the cattlemen from the high plains.
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| After one fifty years they can take it,
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| All the hardship the mountains can give,
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| They hand onto each generation,
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| Their caring, their live and let live,
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| All the steep mountain tracks and the gullies,
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| Which one knows like the palm of his hand,
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| There’s no room here for too many new chumps
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| In the mountain cattleman’s land.
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| So I guess that you’ll never believe me,
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| When you hear what they’re plannin' to do,
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| Down in town, mate they’re writin' the law now,
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| That the man from the high plains must go,
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| Take his herds from the mountains and ridges,
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| Leave the land where his forefathers reigned,
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| With the sweep of the pen they want to write out,
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| The cattlemen from the high plains,
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| And we lose a part of our history,
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| Of our land built through struggle and strain,
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| A bit more of our freedom goes with them,
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| The cattlemen from the high plains,
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| Just a bit more freedom goes with them,
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| The cattlemen from the high plains. |