A Stockman's Loss
Saddle up, its time to go,
It’s early, and their back.
The Bush’s stock of Mountain Brumbies,
Racing down the track.
Blacks and bays, dainty greys,
That damn chestnut neighs.
Bill slams his fist and exclaims:
‘Get my bridle, Jack! ’
Saddled, set, and they’re off,
Powering through the bush.
Up the hill and ‘round the bend,
That chestnut neighs again.
Now cleaver as those Stockmen are,
They’re just not quick enough.
Them witty Brumbies, now they got brains,
Poor Jack, he can’t keep up
‘I got ‘em! ’ Bill cries triumphant, ...