I CAN STILL HEAR DAD SWEARING
When I was a kid we worked without pay
I loved best the harvest and stookin’ the hay
Sisters and brothers in knockabout clothes
They were the good days and good times were those
I can still hear dad swearin’ when we let down the gap
And the horses spread out through the stooks on the flat
And poor old mum scoldin’ like a bush woman can
Pray the lord he’s not listenin’ to the talk from that man
I helped with the musterin’ for the shearings in June
And worked in the shed through the long afternoons
Pickin’ up fleeces and sweepin’ the board
And fetchin’ the lunches I did what I could
I can still hear dad swearin’ at the stubborn old ewes
And we dared not repeat any words that he used
And poor old mum scoldin’ like a bush woman can
Pray the lord he’s not listenin’ to the talk from that man
We all learned to ride on the old pony mare
But the big rangy vealers were more than a dare
We’d bring up the cows to the old cattle yard
The ground where we rode them was dusty and hard
I can still hear dad swearin’ when we rode our old bull
Straight into the chaff shed and out through the wall
And poor old mum scoldin’ like a bush woman can
Pray the lord he’s not listenin’ to the talk from that man
Dad bought me a shotgun when I was 14
I soon got my chance to show I was keen
The dogs were all barkin’ so I went for a look
And a mangy old fox was there stealin’ the chooks
I can still hear dad swearin’ when I splattered with shot
The rear of the outhouse whilst shootin’ that fox
And poor old mum scoldin’ like a bush woman can
Pray the lord he’s not listenin’ to the talk from that man
Twas many long hours we spent with the dogs
Flushin’ out rabbits from the old hollow logs
In the foothills and scrub where the gullies abound
We knew all the places where game could be found
I can still hear dad swearin’ as we burnt that old log
The day the big snake bit his best kelpie dog
And poor old mum scoldin’ like a bush woman can
Pray the lord he’s not listenin’ to the talk from that man
But those days have vanished like childhood they’ve flown
An abandoned old house in the bush stands alone
Where a ghostly old figure in a big floppy hat
Still brings us our lunch through the stooks on the flat
I can still dad swearin’ as we buried old mum
As we stood by her grave in the warm autumn sun
And still hear her scoldin’ like a bush woman can
Pray the lord he’s not listenin’ to the talk from that man
From the album “G’Day G’Day” October 1988
Barcoo Bill
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