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.
The 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.
He told them "Take the cattle on
I'll sit with the boy awhile"
A silent thought, a pipe to smoke
And it's ride another mile
And forget about the drover's boy.
They couldn't make out why the drover and the boy
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 man
"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 the stranger who'd come
From the Kimberley run, Fitzroy
And he told of the massacre in the west
Barest detail, guess the rest
Shoot the bucks, grab a gin
Cut her hair, break her in
And call her a boy, the drover's boy,
And 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 bedmate and guide
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 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…
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.
The 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.
He told them "Take the cattle on
I'll sit with the boy awhile"
A silent thought, a pipe to smoke
And it's ride another mile
And forget about the drover's boy.
They couldn't make out why the drover and the boy
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 man
"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 the stranger who'd come
From the Kimberley run, Fitzroy
And he told of the massacre in the west
Barest detail, guess the rest
Shoot the bucks, grab a gin
Cut her hair, break her in
And call her a boy, the drover's boy,
And 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 bedmate and guide
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 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…
×
![]()
Note for non-Italian users: Sorry, though the interface of this website is translated into English, most commentaries and biographies are in Italian and/or in other languages like French, German, Spanish, Russian etc.
