Slim Dusty Horse & Hobble Days
Oh I’ll take you back to the good old days when our
beards hung down our chest
When the bullocks hauled the woolclip in and we turned
in fully dressed
They were rough and rowdy mustering camps and wild
bulls on the prod
Those horse and hobble days were best when we swung the
greenhide rod
Singing hobbles horsebells and halters as we ride over
gibber and sand
Singing surcingles stockwhips and saddles and the
greasy kip reins in our hands
Oh the bush was such a lively place and the men were
likewise too
There were teamsters moving up the track and drovers
travelling through
Colt breakers with their tackling gear and the dogger
armed with bait
Canteen and springside leggings, horse and hobble days
were great
Singing bridles bullwhips and buckers as we ride round
the bullocks at night
Singing saddlebags quartpots and scrubbers
Oh they won’t rush but maybe they might
Oh I cut my teeth on a bridle bit and was raised on
damper crust
Chased a bull and ever since my friend I’ve been
swallowing cattle dust
Now the Mitchell grass has been my bed and a kneepad
for a rest
When yarramans wore the neck straps horse and hobble
days were best
Singing cattle camps kruppers and slush lamps
As we ride back to camp in the west
Singing scrub dashing ringers and mickys
Oh the old hobble days were the best.