The wind comes over the ranges peak like a galloping brumby colt
And roars in the gums and slams at the door and rattles the rusty bolt
Come in old timer and swallow a spot, kindle your pipe and talk

Of the good old days when we swung the axe and the whip and the sluicing fork

Pull up that chair to the cheerful fire and toast your shins at the blaze

And we'll take a trip just you and I to the old stock ridin' days
We'll couple the teams of memory to the wagons of desire
And we'll follow the way where our fancies stray to some half forgotten fire


And we'll hear as the first stars glimmer through the swing of the windy trees
The echoing bells of the old time teams come buffeting down the breeze

Then to drowsy pastures by fern covered creeks we'll scatter the old teams out
And with pipe and billy and tuckerbox we'll gather and gay carouse


[Guitar Solo]

We'll spin old tales of bygone trips and we'll all a chorus raise

To the rollicking songs our old mates sung back in the good old days
Oh I hear the clatter of wagon wheels down the steepening slope of years
I listen on nights to the long lost bells that rattle on vanished steers


My autumn has merged into inter bleak and life's westerlies now blow
Soon I shall saddle my horse again and gather my gear and go

I'll follow old tracks by forgotten fires on that last track leading west
To camp in a valley of times blue hills where the old stock riders rest


And there when the first stars glimmer I shall gather around the blaze
With my old mates missing these long long years from the old stock riding days
With my old mates missing these long long years from the old stock riding days

Here's one for you Macca