| Now this is the tale of a mate I had
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| Back in those other days
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| Thin as wire and just as tough
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| And woolly and wide and his ways
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| When the going was rugged and really rough
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| He would always cheerfully state
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| «Things are bad but they could be worse
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| So we’ll see how we go with it mate.»
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| Now there was a time when we busted our cheques
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| In a town on the long ago now
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| When a big gun shearer got on the tear
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| And started to kick up a row
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| And he picked on the smallest one of our lot
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| And slaughter was plain to see
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| Till our mate said «Listen you son of a gun
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| Come and fire a charge at me.»
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| Ha! |
| things really began to happen then because
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| As he picked himself out of the dust an the dirt
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| Both eyes were the colour of slate
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| And he squinted a bit as he said to me
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| «How did I go with him mate?»
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| Ha! |
| That was the way our mate used to be
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| Another time in the sunny state
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| With both of us was badly bent
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| With saddle bags empty and nothing to smoke
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| And between us we hadn’t a cent
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| When we saw on a poster, stuck on a wall
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| News of a rodeo;
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| «Well here’s our chance» he said to me
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| «We'll be kings of the wild west show.»
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| But he drew the worse horse there was in the draw
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| Mean eyed and short in the neck
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| As he climbed up the chute, he whispered to me
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| «Be ready to collar the cheque.»
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| Collar the cheque, this is what really happened
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| As he picked himself out of the red Queensland dust
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| Just a few yards away from the gate
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| He looked up at me with a lop-sided grin and said
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| «How did I go with him mate?»
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| Ha! |
| That was our mate
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| Now this mate of mine has gone to rest
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| The way he was destined to go
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| Wheeling the lead of the scrubbers that broke
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| From a camp on the overflow
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| As I stood by his grave on that drear winters day
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| With the rest of the crew and the boss
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| I thought of his happy-go-lucky ways
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| And I knew just how great was our loss
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| And I thought of him climbing those long golden stairs
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| With St Peter in-charge of the gate
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| And I’m certain I heard his voice at my side, saying
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| «How will I go with him mate?»
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| Not to good i reckon
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| Well it’s all over now and I’m settled down
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| Away from those rovin' days
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| And the mates that I had, well they’ve all drifted on
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| Like by-gone yesterdays
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| But I’ll always remember that certain mate
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| And the way he could cheerfully state
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| «Things are bad but they could be worse
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| So we’ll see how we go with it mate»
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| Oh yeah, we’ll see how we go with it mate |