Old Pee
Wee had a fickle look
from too much alcohol
But his missus kept a green stick
to keep him in control
He rarely left his sunken bed
in the breeze way out the back
His only job was split the wood
or the missus whip would crack
Now the woman was a mighty cook,
very wide across the bum
The station kids, black and white,
were allowed to call her mum
Her kitchen was a bakery
for an outback appetite
For big slabs of bully beef
or good old Vegemite
Some of the men were bachelors,
some of the men were not
It didn't worry the station cook,
she'd feed the bloody lot
Visitors from the Iser
or tourists in a bus
With a huge pot of strong tea
and a minimum of fuss
Now the station pet was a
Brahmin bull
You could pat him on the head
He'd never seen a sale yard
He was station bred
I tried to take his picture
With a stockman and a gin
But they faded into the scenery
with a drought -resistant grin
To the famous brunette races
they'd head off for the fun
Where the beer flowed like a river
there was coke and Bundy rum
The station boys were favourites
to win the tug -of -war
The townies weren't prepared
to risk another broken jaw
Some of the men were bachelors,
some of the men were not
It didn't worry the station cook,
she'd feed the bloody lot
Visitors from the Iser
ought to recinna -bus
With a huge pot of strong tea
and a minimum of fuzz
It's the last of the outback stations
owned by a family
Hard fought by a pioneer
of the Northern Territory
I hope it won't be swallowed up
by a public company
And fade into the heat haze
of outback history