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Slim Dusty
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Believe It Or Not
He was a gun shearer, a ringer of sheds
Who had come to the end of his run,
So he let out a yell and threw down his blade,
The last of his ten had been done.
Then he went to the office and asked for his cheque,
And the manager paid him in cash,
Then he rolled up his blanket and started for home
'Ere he gambled at cards and got rash
He camped for the night 'neath the trees by the road,
Away from the cold and the damp,
When a swagman came out of the ev'nin' dusk
And started to make up his camp.
'Come and join me old timer' the shearer said,
'I've tucker enough here for two.'
“My ole tucker bag's light”, the old feller said,
'Thanks boy, don't mind if I do.'
Guitar
When the meal was finished they started to talk,
In the way that travellers do,
An' the old feller said, 'You been travellin' long?'
'Your gear an' your blanket look new.'
'No, I'm not on the track' the shearer said,
'I'm a shearer just finished my run,
An' I've five hundred dollars in this here purse,
Just to prove that my job has been done.'
'Oooooh, five hundred dollars' the old feller said,
'That's a lot of money me son”
there's many a man been murdered for less,
Buried some place on the run.'
Then he went to his swag and took out a knife,
And also a sharpening stone,
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As he sharpened the edge an' he looked up and said,
'You should never have travelled alone.'
Oh, the shearer thought what a fool he's been,
To open his mouth so wide,
He was sure the old man would wait 'til he slept
An' then bury that knife in his hide.
So he lay in his blanket an' waited to hear,
The sound as the swagman slept,
When he heard the first snore, he slipped out of bed,
Into the darkness he crept.
But he hadn't gone far when he thought he could hear,
Footsteps not far at the back,
So he quickened his pace from a walk to a trot,
The footsteps kept pounding the track.
At last he was running flat out in the dark,
From fear he was almost blind,
An' the faster he went, the faster they came,
Those footsteps padding behind.
Then he stumbled and fell with a terrible thud,
Cross a log that lay on the track,
As he lay there gasping and fancin'
He felt the point of that knife in his back.
And there he trembled with energy spent,
An' he knew that his race had been run,
When the swagman fell over the log at his side,
An' whispered 'Who's after us son?'
Well the shearer heaved a great sigh of relief,
An' said, 'No one is after us dad.'
'Well if no one's chasin' ' the old feller said,
'What the hell are we runnin' fur, lad.'
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