Drover's Boy - John Williamson

They couldn’t understand why the drover cried

As they buried the drover’s boy

The drover had always seemed so hard

To the men in his employ

A bolting horse, the stirrup lost

And the drover’s boy was dead

A shovel of dirt, a mumbled word

And it’s back to the road ahead

And forget about the drover’s boy

And they couldn’t understand why the drover cut

A lock of the dead boy’s hair

And 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

Forget about the drover’s boy

And they couldn’t make out why the drover and the boy

Was camped so faraway

For the tall white man and the slim black boy

Never had much to say

And the boy would be gone at the 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 Camowheel pub they talked about

The death of the drover’s boy

They drank their rum with the stranger

Who’d come from the Kimberley 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, 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 they talk about the droving game

Remember the girl who was bed mate and died

Rode with the drover, side by side

Watched the bullocks, flayed the hide

Faithful wife but never a bride

Bred his sons for the cattle run

Don’t weep for the drover’s boy

Don’t mourn for the drover’s boy —

But don’t forget the drover’s boy