VERSE 1 
 
   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  
 
VERSE 2 
 

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 
 
 
REPEAT CHORUS 
 
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