| I’m a mechanised swaggie in a Kenworth T950
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| I haul big freight across the paddock to Perth
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| Me and my girl share the wheel and the berth
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| We can make it in forty-eight hours, from Sydney
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| I used to like hearing my dad tell of the depression
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| Looking for work and getting knocked back
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| Shouldered his swag and took to the track
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| Remembers each camp and every good cook on the stations
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| The times have changed old timer
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| The years have passed you by
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| Some things never alter at all
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| Let me tell you why
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| The dusty roads you tramped are now all highways
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| The road camp now, a sleeper camp
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| The billy of tea, a quick coffee we grabbed
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| I live on the road, I’m the mechanised swaggie of this day
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| Let’s go now
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| Yeah, things have changed old timer
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| And yet they’re still the same
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| The swaggies old tradition lives on
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| In the trucking game
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| 'Cause I’m a mechanised swaggie in a Kenworth T950
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| Checking the gauges and the axel weights
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| Listening to the sound of the Jacobs brake
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| We live on the road, we’re the mechanised swaggies of this day, hey
|
| I’m a mechanised swaggie in a Kenworth T950
|
| I haul big freight across the paddock to Perth
|
| Me and my girl share the wheel and the berth
|
| We live on the road, we’re the mechanised swaggies of this day, hey |