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
[Chorus]
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
