Gordon Bok - On the wallaby

Me tent poles are ^Drotten, me ^Ccampfire's ^Gdead And the possums they ^Cramble in the ^Dtrees overhead I'm ^Gout on the ^Dwallaby, I'm ^Chumping me ^Gdrum And I come down the ^Croad where the ^Dsundowners ^Gcome ^{C D G}

It's north-west-by-^Dwest, over ^Cranges a^Gfar To the plains where the ^Ccattle and the ^Dsheep stations are With the ^Gsky for me ^Dblanket and the ^Cearth for me ^Gbunk And a calico ^Cbag for me ^Ddamper and me junk And it's ^Gscarcely a ^Dcomrade me ^Cmemory re^Gveals Oh, the spirit still ^Ctingles in me ^Dtoe and me ^Gheels ^{C D G}

Now me tent is all ^Dtorn and me ^Cblankets are ^Gdamp And the fast-rising flood^Cwater flows ^Ddown to the camp And the ^Gcold water ^Drises in ^Cjets from the ^Gfloor And I lie in me ^Cbed and I ^Dlisten to it roar And I ^Gthink of to^Dmorrow how me ^Cfootsteps will ^Glag As I tramp beneath the ^Cweight of a ^Drain-sodden ^Gswag ^{C D G}

But the way of a ^Dswagman is ^Cmostly up^Ghill Though there's joy to be ^Cfound on the ^Dwallaby still When the ^Gday has gone ^Ddown, with its ^Ctramp and its ^Gtoil And your campfire you ^Cbuild and your ^Dbilly it can boil And there's ^Gcomfort and ^Dpeace in the ^Cbowl of your ^Gclay Or the yarn of a ^Cmate, who is ^Dtramping your ^Gway ^{C D}

But be^Gware of the ^Dcity, where it's ^Cpoison for ^Gyears And beware of the ^Cdangers in ^Ddrinking long beers When a ^Gbushman gets ^Dbushed in the ^Cstreets of the ^Gtown When he's lost all his ^Cfriends and his ^Dcheque's are knocked down Well, he's ^Gright 'til his ^Dpockets are ^Cempty and ^Gthen He waltzes old ^Cbluey up the ^Dcountry a^Ggain ^{C D G}

Me tent poles are ^Drotten, me ^Ccampfire's ^Gdead And the possums they ^Cramble in the ^Dtrees overhead I'm ^Gout on the ^Dwallaby, I'm ^Chumping me ^Gdrum And I come down the ^Croad where the ^Dsundowners ^Gcome ^{C D G}