VERSE 1 
 
   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  
 
VERSE 2 
 

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 
 
 
REPEAT CHORUS 
 
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