| You’ve heard about the rusty bell that Boomer used to ring,
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| You’ve heard about old Johnny and the loads he used to bring,
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| But they tell me now that Boomer’s bell was a Condamine he wore,
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| And not the one we painted up and wrote about before.
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| And someone said the brand was wrong and the bell belonged to bright,
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| If I live to be a hundred, I would still say I was right,
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| The rusty bell keeps ringing, you can hear it every day,
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| It echos round the ranges and it’s grand the people say,
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| Old Sango keeps on joggin' while Old Smoke is by his side,
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| The old man riding homeward, they were his joy and pride,
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| Old Smoker was half dingo, Sango had racing blood,
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| They were faithful to Old Johnny through the heat and rain and mud.
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| But now they’re just a memory so very dear to me,
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| And the rusty bell is Boomer’s and forever it will be,
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| We’ve watched old Johnny ride away through misty fading years,
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| While Boomer’s bell is ringing just like music to our ears.
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| But now they’re just a memory so very dear to me,
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| And the rusty bell is Boomer’s and forever it will be,
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| The gentle clip of Sango’s hooves, and Smoker jogs along,
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| And the tinkle of the bullock bell rings finish to my song,
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| And the tinkle of the bullock bell rings finish to my song. |