Long have the legends of Clancy, and Snowy River dominated bush culture. The reality is, that that sort of courage has been and is faced every day by all types of Australians.

The Bushmen

On a warm and dusty morning at a campsite west of Bourke,
Two bushmen caught their horses and set about their work.
They only spoke as needed, and then, only just enough,
To see the job completed, or an occasional nervous laugh.

For today they’d drove a long dry stretch, to the next known watering spot,
But the mob in tow was barely alive, and the track so dusty and hot.
And if the hole they sought was also dry, it was more than the mob they’d lose.
But to stay here meant they’d certainly die, so the track was easy to choose.

On a wet and misty morning at a hide out south of Bourke,
Two bushmen caught their horses and set about their work.
They only spoke as needed, and then, only just enough,
To see the job completed, or an occasional nervous laugh.

For today they’d ride against the law, their children for to feed.
With a life of hunger still in store, they’d steal for want and need.
And if today a traps bullet finds, the Bushrangers mortal end.
The only regret they’ll have in dying, is leaving their wives to fend

On a cold and frosty morning in the ranges East of Bourke,
Two bushmen caught their horses and set about their work.
They only spoke as needed, and then, only just enough,
To see the job completed, or an occasional nervous laugh.

For today they’d cross a rivers flood and a snowy mountain peak.
Cold and wet and covered in mud their horses sore and weak.
To fetch the doc and bring him back, their mother was gravely ill.
No time to take the normal track when an hour could easily kill.

On a calm and peaceful morning at a war, long way from Bourke,
Two bushmen caught their horses and set about their work.
They only spoke as needed, and then, only just enough,
To see the job completed, or an occasional nervous laugh.

They checked the straps and ammo, and memorized the plan.
Then swore allegiance to each other, and vowed to make a stand.
They sprung lightly to the saddle to face this life’s last test.
Then charged the machine guns rattle, “Light Horsemen” at their best.

On any dawn of any morn on any track from Bourke,
The bushmen catch their horses and continue with their work.
And they’ll always be there as needed till their hearts of gold all spent,
Find its time to meet their maker and pay their final rent.

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