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Slim Dusty
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Up the Old Nulla Road
The big old bullocks walking down the red and dusty
track
Far from the coast and the city lights in the heart of
the great outback
And close behind on a big bay horse astride his leather
throne
Sits a native of Australia, in a land he calls his own.
Though his by birth, the laws of man, have kept him
from this place
And weeping spirits of the soil kept calling to his
race,
Though the earth is cold and empty now, since he
wandered from his home
Where is our native brother, in this land he calls his
own.
When sacred soil was plundered, and the elders made a
stand
Their words were left rejected and drove them to the
sand
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And the big man in the city, happy with the deal hed
sold
Condemned a thousand people, from the land they call
their own.
The land is dead and silent and the white man's hand is
gone
And the trees and birds have left us, and the more we
hear their song
Though theyve lift the spirit from you and carved you
to the bone
Were back to claim our birthright this place we call
our home,
So big bullocks walking down the red and dusty track
Far from the coast and the city lights in the heart of
the great outback
And close behind on a big bay horse astride his leather
throne
Sits a native of Australia, In a land he calls his own.
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