As they buried the drover's boy
For the drover always seemed so hard
A bolting horse, a stirrup lost,
and the drover's boy was dead
A shoveled dirt, a mumbled word,
and it's back to the road ahead
a lock from the dead boy's hair
as they watched him standing there
He told them, take the cattle on,
I'll sit with the boy a while
The silent thought, the pipe to smoke
and it's right another mile
And forget about the drover's
They couldn't make out why the drover
and the boy camped so far away
For the tall white man and
daylight hit the road again
Follow home, the drove is born
Follow home, the drove is born
they talked about the death
They drank their rum with a stranger
And he told of a massacre in
the barest details, guess the rest
He'd shoot the boys, grab a girl,
cut her hair, and break her in
They talk about the droving game
Remember the girl who was
Rode with the drovers side by side
And watched the Bullocks,
Faithful wife, but never a bride
Don't weep for the drover's boy
Don't mourn for the drover's boy
But don't forget the drover's boy