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   D5                      A5                    D5  
He sat by the door of the grand old Birdsville Pub  
    G5                 D5                            A5  
His swag and gear was guarded by a faithful heeler dog  
          D5                                               G5  
He wore a shirt that would blind ya and a rumpled ringers hat  
D5                            A5                D5  
This old man was country, he left no doubt of that  

        D5                             A5                   D5  
Well he sang of mobs of cattle moving down the Birdsville track  
        G5              D5                         A5  
And the camels carting wool in the early days outback  
           D5                                           G5    
He sang of wild eyed scrubbers runnin' flat out in the night  
D5                                A5                   D5   
Tryin' to ring the mob cause the lightnin's quick to fright  
                     G5                      D5  
He sat there hillbilly pickin' on a cracked and battered Gibson  
A5                                   D5  
And the songs that he sang were all his  
      G5                         D5  
Every song told a story and the more that I listened  
                            A5             D5        
The more I realised this is where country is       

D5                                         A5               D5  
Well his songs told how they did it and I felt a sense of shame  
      G5               D5                     A5     
And I wondered if the battler would ever be again  
    D5                                       G5  
His pride in his country rang true in every song  
      D5                                    A5                D5  
And I wondered if the chips were down if I ever would be as strong  

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