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   D                      A                    D  
He sat by the door of the grand old Birdsville Pub  
    G                 D                            A  
His swag and gear was guarded by a faithful heeler dog  
          D                                               G  
He wore a shirt that would blind ya and a rumpled ringers hat  
D                            A                D  
This old man was country, he left no doubt of that  

        D                             A                   D  
Well he sang of mobs of cattle moving down the Birdsville track  
        G              D                         A  
And the camels carting wool in the early days outback  
           D                                           G    
He sang of wild eyed scrubbers runnin' flat out in the night  
D                                A                   D   
Tryin' to ring the mob cause the lightnin's quick to fright  
                     G                      D  
He sat there hillbilly pickin' on a cracked and battered Gibson  
A                                   D  
And the songs that he sang were all his  
      G                         D  
Every song told a story and the more that I listened  
                            A             D        
The more I realised this is where country is       

D                                         A               D  
Well his songs told how they did it and I felt a sense of shame  
      G               D                     A     
And I wondered if the battler would ever be again  
    D                                       G  
His pride in his country rang true in every song  
      D                                    A                D  
And I wondered if the chips were down if I ever would be as strong  

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