I'm an old western drover from the back of beyondWith a big check to bust and I'm not staying longSo come on you townies, I'm the last of the breedFor money and towns are things I don't needI've just finished truckin', a big mob of fatsThree months on the road from the central outbackFrom the anthills and scrubs and the Mitchell grass plainsBut there are no roads for your cursed beef trainI have a good plant of horses to ride and to packMen who can ride and men who can trackUncivilized bushmen with skins black and brownUnspoiled by the rush of your civilized townThe packs are all full and the horses are rightI'm removin' off camp before the daylightSo fill up your glasses, the drinks are on meAnd the sooner I'm broke, well the happier I'll beI've no use for your money, no use for your townOh I've seen far too many good bushmen go downI just want to be free from this civilized pushFor some reason I don't like itSomeday Australia won't have any bushSo here's to my camp horse, my stock whip and docksAnd the court pots we boiled by a fire of logsAnd here's to the dampers we cooked in the coalsAnd the bushmans told stories at nights that I've toldBut it hurts me to witness the progress of manThe beef roads that creep ever onwardThe farmers from Pitt Street will come with their pushAnd the old roven plants will be gone from the bushBut I've no need to worry when that time comes roundThe last of us bushmen will be undergroundSo tonight let us sing while the beer's flowin' freeSo come on you fellas, the drinks are on meLemon rover of fats and the last of the breedWho knows how to nurse him and knows how to feedSo here's to the grand life to which I was bornAs fresh and as free as the winds of the dawnAs fresh and as free as the winds of the dawn