St. Peter heard a rowdy commotion, the angels flew from their chairs. St. Peter looked down in amazement, cattle galloping up heaven's stairs. A horseman behind them was Stock Whip, a pocket knife held in his hand. They were clean skins from all over Aussie, not a sign of earmarks or brand. There were shorthorns, herefords and brahmins, mulgas, saltbushes and spinifex bred. They galloped through pearly gates blowing in the lead road of Dungar and Fred. In a flash they were earmarked and branded by the strangers so slippery and fast. Old Sandford trying hard to remember, seems he knew of him back in the past. Peter stroked his white flowing beard, this legend had many times driven. Clean skins in a way Peter admired, it's about time I had him forgiven. On bright moonlit nights in heaven, a lone horseman knows something needs fixing. Cause most things in life need an owner, what better man other than Higson. On bright moonlit nights in heaven, a lone horseman knows something needs fixing. Cause most things in life need an owner, what better man other than Higson. What better man other than Higson.