
Date of issue: 31.12.1995
Record label: EMI Recorded Music Australia
Song language: English
The Drover's Cook |
Now the drovers cook weighed fifteen stone and he had one bloodshot eye |
He had no laces in his boots and no buttons on his fly |
His pants hung loosly round his hips hitched by a piece of wire |
And they concertined round his boots in a way that you’d admire |
Well he stuck the billy on the boil and then emptied out his pipe |
And with his greasy shirtsleeves he gave his nose a wipe |
And with pipe in mouth he mixed a sod and the drip hung from his chin |
And as he mixed the damper up the drip kept dripping in |
I walked quietly over to him and said toss that mixtuer out |
And in future when your working keep your pipe out of your mouth |
Well he stood erect and eyed me with such a dirty look |
And said in choice Australian «Get another bloody cook» |
A cook I said you call yourself you greasy slop made lout |
Why you should be jailed for taking work that you cannot carry out |
Oh he then uncorked some language and I felt a thrill of fear |
As he swung his hairy paws about and said «trot your frame out here» |
In outback brawls there are no rules nor limits to the weight |
So I had to squib or meet him with my meagre nine stone eight |
And we both bounced into action and fell into a clinche |
I put a headlock on him but I couldn’t make him flinch |
For hours we fought in deathly grips swung uppercuts and crosses |
We staggered and founded in distress like broke and winded horses |
Then gaspingly he muttered «Oh I’ve fought all through the north» |
«Your the gamest thing I’ve ever struck, here give me your hand old sport» |
Well I can’t explain my feelings with joy I nearly cried |
As we staggered to a shade close by where he sank down and died |
Now you talk about that saltbush scrap why it was only play |
Compared to that grueling battle we fought that fatal day |
And now above his resting place where the grasses grown to seed |
On stone is carved this epitath for travelers to read |
Here lies the son of Donald Gunn none gamer ever stood |
And he died in dinkum battle with Jimmy Underwood |
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