Emily Gap, east of Alice Springs, an ancient ceremonial site of the Aranda Aborigines.
THE LIQUID BULLOCK TEAM
-M.Cogan.
Old Jim McGann was a bullock man, he owned a team of five,
A Queensland drought once starved him out on a hungry road to strive.
Without a swag or tuckerbag, with a waggon held by nails,
And a dog to heel, behind the wheel, they walked to New South Wales.
He addressed his cows with lurid vows, using language of renown,
He bust a spoke and lost a yoke outside Wilcannia town.
‘Neath a blazing sky, his throat gone dry, and tired of damper crust,
To lend him cheer, Jim craved a beer to wash away the dust.
But the teamster bloke was stoney broke, the barman’s look was strong,
He needed cash, in a moment rash, sold his bullocks for a song.
Jim drank his liquid bullock team, ‘twas rather strange, I fear,
But sell he did, for a lousy quid, to get a nice cold beer.
He boozed away his team and dray to make his troubles go,
“Goodbye, Lofty, Sailor, Jack, Brindle and Old Snow.”
In a reckless dash, he spent the cash, and the barman’s look turned mean,
“Go pack your gear, get out of here, you’ve drunk yer bloody team!”
Now Jimmy rests in a swaggie’s grave, his bullocks vanished, too.
The whips don’t crack along the track the way they used to do.
Yes, he’s gone to Nick, still dry as a brick, and he’s droving down below
With the ghosts of Lofty, Sailor, Jack, Brindle and Old Snow.
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