| That’s Bob by the roar of his Maxidyne
|
| And the beam of his big bull light
|
| That Dave by the number of gears he don’t drop
|
| And Col in his long nose white
|
| They’re pushin' an' tryin' to make some miles
|
| With their big double loads of freight
|
| Like flour an' steel an' tractor parts
|
| From Brisbane and interstate
|
| The windows will rattle in the towns tonight
|
| And the roads tax man may wait
|
| The boss of the motel may curse and swear
|
| At the noise that the truckies make
|
| Hate the truckies for makin' the noise an' din
|
| Which awakens him from his sleep
|
| The road tax boy wants to watch his step
|
| And the squatter best watch his sheep
|
| Instrumental
|
| Six of Fitzy’s rigs and an All-trans guy
|
| There’s Snow and old Air-way Don
|
| With the Brambles flag which both now fly
|
| They’ll boil up a few miles on
|
| Oh I remember the smell of transmission oils
|
| And the Road Ranger whines in my ears
|
| The chatter of quad box sticks I can feel
|
| And the way that the R model steers
|
| My sight is gone and I can’t go on
|
| At my job on the big road trains
|
| But the blokes I knew are still jockeying through
|
| Past my home on the western plains
|
| I can lie at night in my restless bunk
|
| And envisage the smoke from the stacks
|
| As my mates roll by doin' jobs like I
|
| Use to do on the western track
|
| Instrumental
|
| That’s Bob by the roar of his Maxidyne
|
| And the beam of his big bull light
|
| That Dave by the number of gears he don’t drop
|
| And Col in his long nose white |