Dinkum Bushman's Hands

The fingers are cracked and twisted,
The nails are black an' torn,
The backs are sunburnt to leather,
The palms are calloused and worn,
They’re bent to the shape of an old horse shoe,
They’re rope burned, scarred and tanned,
But there’s true strength in the hand shake,
Of a dinkum bushman’s hands.
You’ll see them curled 'round a glass,
Or swingin' in the midst of a fight,
Or frozen blue on the night watch,
On a long cold winter’s night,
But don’t think they are unfeeling,
They’re not only rough and hard,
Oh, just watch the gentle way they work,
Handling a colt in the yard,
They’ll grip like a blue heeler’s jaws,
Impossible almost to shake free,
But I’ve seen them pick up a tiger snake
And crack it against a tree,
And they can hang on through the hard times,
To life in the back barren land,
Oh, but money has a way of slippin' through,
A dinkum bushman’s hands.
The fingers are cracked and twisted,
The nails are black an' torn,
The backs are sunburnt to leather,
The palms are calloused and worn,
They’re bent to the shape of an old horse shoe,
They’re rope burned, scarred and tanned,
But there’s true strength in the hand shake,
Of a dinkum bushman’s hands.
Have you noticed the hands of a desk man,
They’re more like a woman’s to me,
Sheltered from wind and the blazing sun,
In an office, down by the sea,
I don’t think they’ll leave a big imprint,
In the shapin' of this old land,
I Like to think that more will be done,
By our dinkum bushman’s hands.
The fingers are cracked and twisted,
The nails are black an' torn,
The backs are sunburnt to leather,
The palms are calloused and worn,
They’re bent to the shape of an old horse shoe,
They’re rope burned, scarred and tanned,
But there’s true strength in the hand shake,
Of a dinkum bushman’s hands.
Dinkum bushman’s hands.