Where Are The Mates I Used To Have
The Passing Years Is The Way That The Oldsters Cursed
When We Were Young And The World Was Wide
And The Longest Day Not Hard
We Could Joke Our Way From Dawn To Dark
Through The Mop In The Branding Yard
One I Remember When I Was There
Who Helped Me In Early Years
When I Was The Butt Of The Stock Rail Jokes
He Taught Me To Take The Jizz
The Passing Years Is The Way That The Oldsters Cursed
In Life He Didn't Amount To Much
He Came From Further Out
He Was Only A Lanky Colored Lad
A Station Rouse About
Oh I Thanked Him Often In Afterlife
For The Things He Taught Me Then
He Guided My Youth Through The Stockman's Life
In The Hard Tough World Of Men
Although He Didn't Amount To Much
All That He Had He Gave
He Was White Enough And Man Enough
To Rest In A Soldier's Grave
Forgotten By Most Of The Ones
He Knew And Those Of His Tribal Tree
The World Forgetting The World Forgot
Except By Mates Like Me
So Long Old Mates Of The Early Days
Wherever You May Be
May The Grass Be Green And The Water Good
From Care May Your Days Be Free
I've Travelled A Span Of The Road Of Life
And I've Learned To Understand
True Mateship From The Older Days
And The Way It Was Meant To Be
Has No Colour Read No Land