I'm an old western drover from the back of beyond
With a big check to bust and I'm not staying long
So come on you townies, I'm the last of the breed
For money and towns are things I don't need
I've just finished truckin', a big mob of fats
Three months on the road from the central outback
From the anthills and scrubs and the Mitchell grass plains
But there are no roads for your cursed beef train
I have a good plant of horses to ride and to pack
Men who can ride and men who can track
Uncivilized bushmen with skins black and brown
Unspoiled by the rush of your civilized town
The packs are all full and the horses are right
I'm removin' off camp before the daylight
So fill up your glasses, the drinks are on me
And the sooner I'm broke, well the happier I'll be
I've no use for your money, no use for your town
Oh I've seen far too many good bushmen go down
I just want to be free from this civilized push
For some reason I don't like it
Someday Australia won't have any bush
So here's to my camp horse, my stock whip and docks
And the court pots we boiled by a fire of logs
And here's to the dampers we cooked in the coals
And the bushmans told stories at nights that I've told
But it hurts me to witness the progress of man
The beef roads that creep ever onward
The farmers from Pitt Street will come with their push
And the old roven plants will be gone from the bush
But I've no need to worry when that time comes round
The last of us bushmen will be underground
So tonight let us sing while the beer's flowin' free
So come on you fellas, the drinks are on me
Lemon rover of fats and the last of the breed
Who knows how to nurse him and knows how to feed
So here's to the grand life to which I was born
As fresh and as free as the winds of the dawn
As fresh and as free as the winds of the dawn