澳洲乡村歌王Slim Dusty主要歌曲MP3歌词集

dragut

No. 30 My Old Cooloolah Home
Cooloolah是昆州一个小镇
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=FoOVU3tfQR0

There is coffee in the lounge room with a heater at my toes,
I traded in through a nipper grum on a far away Gidgee coal.
I am seated in my armschair my eyes are just blurr,
And the mind goes back to station hack in a pair of wave spurs .

It takes me back down the Leicha,
To my old Cooloolah home.
It takes me back down the Leicha,
Where the scrubbers and brumbies used to roam.

We get our fresh bread daily our meats delivered too,
I soon will have a damper made of a good old stock camp stool.
Sometimes while I am reminiscing when my mates come around,
We took out scrubbers, packs and camps and swags all on the ground.

It takes me back down the Leicha,
To my old Cooloolah home.
It takes me back down the Leicha,
Where the scrubbers and brumbies used to roam.

I spent my young life ringing beneath the Queensland sun,
Just twenty miles from Kajabbi on the big Cooloola run.
When the minds goes back to yesteryear, oh how my old heart swells,
As hears again those hubble changes on the condor of my horse belts.

It takes me back down the Leicha,
To my old Cooloolah home.
It takes me back down the Leicha,
Where the scrubbers and brumbies used to roam.

It takes me back, down the Leicha.

dragut

No. 31 Fair Enough
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=CgVTKlRnAJE

Give me the good ol' ringer's meal of damper, beef and spuds,
And let me sleep on the Gidgee stones in my saddle worn mullskin duds.
Give me a quart of strong black tea and a wedge of soddy duck,
A pound of weed and a scalby whip and I'll think that's fair enough.
(Moleskin is a soft fabric with a thin layer of felt attached to a sticky backing. It is used most often on the feet to protect the skin from rubbing against itself or footwear and is also used to help cushion the feet.)

Oh let me take a turn once more in a stockyard with a colt,
I'll twist a greenhide bronco rope and you'll find I'm worth my salt,
Call for me for the midnight watch on a horse that knows his stuff,
And if they jump I'll be their home and I think that's fair enough.

Let me see the dust flaps fly before the storm erupts,
See those rollin' sandhills rise where the dingo hides her pups,
A land where the pelicans gorges fish and the scrub bull calls your bluff,
And the battle of rival brumby bucks is a sight that's fair enough.

Give me the range of four in hand to replace the wretched spanner,
And let those horses make the pace in the land of the sand goanna,
Well take me back to an open camp where the mickies play it rough,
And I'll sing that night in the fire light and to me that's fair enough.

Oooh let me drink from the waterhole, no reflections here on Trumbie,
And listen to the curlew call, the dingo and the brumby.
And when my time is drawing near and I feel I've had enough,
Oh I'll die with memories of the bush and to me that's fair enough.

Give me the good ol' ringer's meal of damper, beef and spuds,
And let me sleep on the Gidgee stones in my saddle worn mullskin duds.
Give me a quart of strong black tea and a wedge of soddy duck,
A pound of weed and a scalby whip and I'll think that's fair enough.
Yeah a pound of weed and a scalby whip and I'll think that's fair enough.

From his album: "Songs From the Cattle Camps"
Transcribed: Marten Busstra 2010

dragut

No. 32 I Hope They Fight Again
乡村打架故事
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=vS4db5GXBuo
I was drinking here one evening said the old man with a grin，
And everything was peaceful til some ringer blokes came in.
There were four of them in number and they seemed to be half full,
And they were arguing on how to throw and tie a scrubber bull. (In the pastoral industry, a “scrub” (also known as a “scrubber”, or “scrub bull”) is a male cattle who escaped castration early on in life)

Well they talked of cattle camps from Bourke to Anthony Lagoon,
And they talked of runnin' scrubbers 'neath the glimmer of the moon.
And they talked of ridin' buckers when the subject turned to fights,
And by this time said the old man they were gettin' pretty tight.
Oh yeah

Just then the fighting shearer from the Lachlan came around,
He had five mates behind him but the ringers stood their ground.
The shearers had been drinking on the far end of the bar and
They'd been shearing lambs and wethers and were calling out for tar.

They'd been cursin' cooks and rousies and the experts left and right,
When they heard the ringers cooee and the subject turned to fight.
Then a deadly calm descended like the lull before a storm,
Which erupted like a cyclone as the fighters showed their form.
Oh that's right!!

Oh the presser punched a moment with the tallest of the four,
Till the lanky bloke connected and he crumpled to the floor.
Then lanky aimed a beauty at the nearest shearers chin,
But a king hit from the sideline put the long one in a spin.

When an innocent bystander sought an exit to the door,
He was trampled with the blood and glass and beer upon the floor.
Just then the worried barman hollered out with all his might,
Are you crazy lot of blighters here to drink or here to fight!
Oh that's right!

They were battered bruised and winded so they gathered round the bar,
'Cept the innocent bystander who went limping to his car.
Oh the good old days have vanished in the darkness and the gloom,
In the wake of modern tourists and this might mineral boom.

For the dinkum Aussie bushmen are a slowly dyin' race,
And it hurts me when I see the type that come to take their place.
So I come here every evening and I sit and reminisce,
'Cos another blue like that one is a thing I'd hate to miss.
Oh yeah
I was drinking here one evening said the old man with a grin,
And everything was peaceful til some ringer blokes came in.

dragut

No. 33 Back in the Saddle
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=pMr_Htzfz7s
歌曲表达了一位重回牧场的牛仔的喜悦心情。

Oh it's great to be back in the saddle,
With my hand on the rough bridle rein.
There are wild scrubbers out there to muster,
And calves to be branded again.

A man doesn't know that he's wealthy,
Till his wages are gone on a spree,
and he once more returns to the bushland,
Where the beauty of nature is free.

Oh, it's great to be back on the station,
And to ride beneath the clear western skies,
Where the red dingo howls from the ridges,
To his mate as he sees me ride by.

As day time surrenders to night time,
And horse bells are tinkling so sweet.
Oh I dream with my dog by the campfire,
And my happiness is complete.

Oh, it's great to be back on the home run,
From this life I will ask nothing more.
For my home is the wild rugged bushland,
And I'll never walk out through the door.

As I lay back at night in my blanket,
And gaze at the bright starry dome.
Oh, I thank the Almighty in heaven,
For giving me such a fine home.

Oh it's great to be back in the saddle,
With my hand on the rough bridle rein.

dragut

No. 34 When The Scrubbers Break
节奏性极强的处理马群受惊的放牧生活场景
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v= ... pyEZt3F7Q8RFHXU4CHo

Oh to be in England now that spring is here.
The bard show longing in these words for the land he held so dear.
But I bet you London to a break and I make no mistake,
That he will sooner be in his mother's arms when the scrubbers break.

I have chased wildly scrubbers in places wild and strange,
By lonely guile guys in the gulf and through the black forest rain.
But it's when you got them in the mob and you had all you can take,
You think you'll stop and rest a while then the scrubbers break.

Yodelling

Oh he doesn't need a reason and doesn't take a fright.
Just start him on his headlong rush and put the mob to flight.
Oh I have seen tougher ringers start to pray and knees began to shake.
But I will tell you mate it's hell on earth when the scrubbers break.

Oh he lead the rush through Gidgee scrubbers the horseman won't deal.
And cripple half the travelling mob as the rushing ran to tears.
For the devil fell within him a good stockman's heart and quick.
As he shakes the ring and sets the spur to wheel the scrubber's break.

Yodelling

So all your Queen street cowboys with fancy boots and hats,
Had better stay down in the town and round up dogs and cats.
For if you ever can show Ellsworth for all you reputation saved.
You wish to guard and stay at home when the scrubbers break.

Now I have chased wildly scrubbers in places wild and strange,
By lonely guile guys in the gulf and through the black forest rain.
But it's when you got him in the mob and you had all you can take,
You think you'll stop and rest a while then the scrubbers break.

Yodelling

dragut

No. 35 Men Who Come Behind
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v= ... HXU4CHo&index=9
There's a class of men and women who are always on their guard,
Cunning, treacherous, suspicious, feeling softly, grasping hard,
Yet without the courage to forsake the beaten track,
Wearily they feel their way behind a bolder spirit's back.

They will stick to you as sin does, while your money comes and goes,
But they'll leave you when you haven't got a dollar in your clothes.
You may get some help from others, but you'll nearly always find
That you cannot get assistance from the men who come behind.

There are many, far too many, in the world of prose and rhyme,
Always looking for another's 'footsteps on the sands of time.'
Journalistic imitators are the meanest of mankind;
And the grandest themes are hackneyed by the pens that come behind.

If you strike a novel subject, write it up, and do not fail,
They will rhyme and prose about it, till your very own is stale,
As they raved about the bushland that the wattle-boughs perfume
Till the reader cursed that region and the stink of wattle-bloom.

They will follow in your footsteps while you're groping for the light;
But they'll run to get before you when they see you're going right;
And they'll trip you up and baulk you in their blind and greedy heat,
Like a stupid pup that hasn't learned to trail behind your feet.

So take your loads of sin and sorrow on an energetic back!
Go and strike across the country where there isn't any track!
And I fancy that the subject could be further treated here,
But we'll leave it to be hackneyed by the fellows in the rear.

Oh there are many, far too many, in the world of prose and rhyme,
Always looking for another's 'footsteps on the sands of time.'
Journalistic imitators are the meanest of mankind;
And the grandest themes are hackneyed by the pens that come behind.

dragut

No. 36 The Retired Drover

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v= ... HXU4CHo&index=5

[Yodel]
I'm an old retired drover forced out by father time.
I cannot take the city life or settle for its climate.
I miss the clink of hobble change and the music of the bells,
The smell of dust and cattle around the water wells.

The noise of bull and cattle been pushed through drought on mine,
And the appetizing odour of the ribs on the fire.
I like here gazing skyward telling stories of the past.
The wild stamp peas of a thousand hay and the drovers riding far.

[Yodel]
I was young and wild and reckless now my air has turned snow,
I see me mounted wildly in my young days long ago.
In the vast south of the gorges I can see the wild scrubbers and cattle.
And hear them cross the gullies and the hoops on limestone rattle.

I hear the lopper calling from the tree top on the rise,
Which takes me to a camping spot and tears within my eyes.
Oh could I hear the jack ass call a day break once again,
And through boy of the storm bird when he hails the summer rain.

[Yodel]

I'm an old retired drover forced out by father time.
I cannot take this city life or settle for its climate.
I am so lonely here in Sydney where they do not speak my tongue.
God give me a spot in the great outback where the big mobs run.