We trucked the cows to Homebush, saw the girls, and started back, Went West through Cunnamulla, and got to the Eulo track. Camped a while at Gonybibil - but, Lord! you wouldn't know It for the place where you and Mick were stockmen long ago.
Young Merino bought the station, fenced the run and built a 'shed', Sacked the stockmen, sold the cattle, and put on sheep instead, But he wasn't built for Queensland. and every blessed year One hears of 'labour troubles' when Merino starts to shear.
There are ructions with the rouseabouts, and shearers' strikes galore! The likes were never thought of in the cattle days of yore. And slowly, round small paddocks now, the 'sleeping lizards' creep, And Gonybibil's beggared since the country carried sheep.
Time was we had the horses up ere starlight waned away, The billy would be boiling by the breaking of the day; And our horses - by Protection - were aye in decent nick, When we rode up the 'Bidgee where the clearskins mustered thick. They've built brush-yards on Wild Horse Creek, where in the morning's hush We've sat silent in the saddle, and listened for the rush Of the scrubbers - when we heard 'em, 'twas wheel 'em if you can, While gidgee, pine and mulga tried the nerve of horse and man.
The mickies that we've branded there! the colts we had to ride! In Gonybibil's palmy days - before the old boss died. Could Yorkie Hawkins see his run, I guess his ghost would weep, For Gonybibil's beggared since the country carried sheep.
From sunrise until sunset through the summer days we'd ride, But stockyard rails were up and pegged, with cattle safe inside, When 'twixt the gloamin' and the murk, we heard the well-known note - The peal of boisterous laughter from the kookaburra's throat.
Camped out beneath the starlit skies, the tree-tops overhead, A saddle for a pillow, and a blanket for a bed, 'Twas pleasant, mate, to listen to the soughing of the breeze, And learn the lilting lullabies which stirred the mulga-trees.
Our sleep was sound in those times, for the mustering days were hard, The morrows might be harder, with the branding in the yard. But did yu see the station now! the men - and mokes - they keep! You'd own the place was beggared - since the country carred sheep.
First published in The Bulletin, 4 March 1893.