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Slim Dusty
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Hear 'Em Go
That's Bob by the roar of his Maxidyne,
And the beam of his big bull light,
That Dave by the number of gears he don't drop,
And Col in his long nose white,
They're pushin' an' tryin' to make some miles,
With their big double loads of freight,
Like flour an' steel an' tractor parts,
From Brisbane and interstate.
The windows will rattle in the towns tonight,
And the roads tax man may wait,
The boss of the motel may curse and swear,
At the noise that the truckies make,
Hate the truckies for makin' the noise an' din,
Which awakens him from his sleep,
The road tax boy wants to watch his step,
And the squatter best watch his sheep.
Instrumental
Six of Fitzy's rigs and an All-trans guy
There's Snow and old Air-way Don,
With the Brambles flag which both now fly,
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They'll boil up a few miles on,
Oh I remember the smell of transmission oils,
And the Road Ranger whines in my ears,
The chatter of quad box sticks I can feel,
And the way that the R model steers.
My sight is gone and I can't go on,
At my job on the big road trains,
But the blokes I knew are still jockeying through,
Past my home on the western plains,
I can lie at night in my restless bunk,
And envisage the smoke from the stacks ,
As my mates roll by doin' jobs like I,
Use to do on the western track.
Instrumental
That's Bob by the roar of his Maxidyne,
And the beam of his big bull light,
That Dave by the number of gears he don't drop,
And Col in his long nose white
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