We'll go just another fifty miles lad's
So the traps see no smoke
On the cooking fire
And well shoot rabbits out of earshot
Bedding is dry tonight the rain looks far
A chance to sit awhile
And wash
Set the horses away to graze
As if running free
A big day beckons in fear tomorrow
Of those hunting rewards
Grab your horse and mount early my boys
We are bushrangers
We are the hunted we are playing only with time
Guessing our obituaries
Copyright Paolo 2011-12-21
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem