| The big old bullocks walking down the red and dusty
|
| track
|
| Far from the coast and the city lights in the heart of
|
| the great outback
|
| And close behind on a big bay horse astride his leather
|
| throne
|
| Sits a native of Australia, in a land he calls his own.
|
| Though his by birth, the laws of man, have kept him
|
| from this place
|
| And weeping spirits of the soil kept calling to his
|
| race,
|
| Though the earth is cold and empty now, since he
|
| wandered from his home
|
| Where is our native brother, in this land he calls his
|
| own.
|
| When sacred soil was plundered, and the elders made a
|
| stand
|
| Their words were left rejected and drove them to the
|
| sand
|
| And the big man in the city, happy with the deal hed
|
| sold
|
| Condemned a thousand people, from the land they call
|
| their own.
|
| The land is dead and silent and the white man’s hand is
|
| gone
|
| And the trees and birds have left us, and the more we
|
| hear their song
|
| Though theyve lift the spirit from you and carved you
|
| to the bone
|
| Were back to claim our birthright this place we call
|
| our home,
|
| So big bullocks walking down the red and dusty track
|
| Far from the coast and the city lights in the heart of
|
| the great outback
|
| And close behind on a big bay horse astride his leather
|
| throne
|
| Sits a native of Australia, In a land he calls his own. |