The Drover's Boy

They couldn't understand why the drover cried
 As they buried the drover's boy
 For the drover had always seemed so hard
 To the men in his employ
 A bolting horse, a stirrup lost
 And the drover's boy was dead
 Shovelled dirt and a mumbled word
 And it's back to the road ahead
 And forget about the drover's boy
 They couldn't understand why the drover cut
 A lock of the dead boy's hair
 He put it in the band of his battered old hat
 As they watched him standing there
 And he told them,
 "take the cattle on, I'll sit with the boy a while."
 A silent thought, a pipe to smoke,
 And it's ride another mile
 And forget about the drover's boy
 They couldn't understand why the drover
 And the boy had always camped so far away
 For the tall white man and the slim black boy
 Had never had much to say
 And the boy would be gone at break of dawn
 Tail the horses, carry on
 While the drover roused the sleeping men;
 "Daylight, hit the road again."
 And follow the drover's boy
 Follow the drover's boy
 In the Camooweal Pub they talked about
 the death of the drover's boy
 They drank their rum with a stranger
 Who'd come from a Kimberly-run Fitzroy
 And he told of the massacre in the west
 Barest details - guess the rest
 Shoot the bucks, grab a gin
 Cut her hair, break her in
 And call her a boy, the drover's boy
 Call her a boy, the drover's boy
 So when they build that stockman's hall of fame
 And talk about the droving game
 Remember the girl who was bedmate and guide
 Rode with the drovers side-by-side
 Watched the bullocks, flayed the hide
 Faithful wife, but never a bride
 Bred his sons for the cattle runs
 Don't weep for the drover's boy
 Don't mourn for the drover's boy
 But don't forget the drover's boy