The Jimberella Kid

He rambled and he gambled and fire burnt in his veins
He fought and swore and drank and danced was dishonoured for his pains
But he’d never cheat upon a friend; he lived by the bushman’s code
And no man feared for wife or child where Jimberella rode
But when the native stockman was smashed against a tree
He rode the 40 miles for help through a night like ebony
And none could ride beside him when the scrubbers made their bid
With who and spur he carved his name, the Jimberella kid
But who was it duffed the cleanskins, who was it stole the horse?
Who was it shot the squatters bull? They’ll blame someone of course
But they have to find a scapegoat, for they can’t find out who did
And they’ll blame that wild young stockman, The Jimberella Kid
A thousand head of cattle, camped by the Wilga hole
A surging restless flighty mob, 5 stockmen in control
And riding up to see the herd though her father might forbid
The squatters daughter rode beside the Jimberella Kid
And when the laughing couple rode by the Wilga hole
They stirred a dingo from the creek and across the flat he stole
It was then the new chum jackaroo drew rifle from its sheath
And unheeded went the cry that ripped from Jimberellas teeth
But who was it duffed the cleanskins, who was it stole the horse?
Who was it shot the squatters bull? They’ll blame someone of course
But they have to find a scapegoat, for they can’t find out who did
So they’ll blame that wild young stockman, The Jimberella Kid
The shot echoed across the flat as the dingo met his death
And a thousand head of cattle rose in a single breath
They swept down in an avalanche of hoofs and horns and hide
And for his life and for his love did Jimberella ride
2 horses in the race for life spurred on by rein and heel
Til stumbling on a fallen the tree the girls' mare began to reel
Then hurled its rider from its back as to the ground it slid
Then to her side swiftly leapt the Jimberella kid
He used his body as a shield to save his only love
But the girl lay safe beneath him as death rained from above
And now he sleeps forever out beneath the Southern Cross
And the squatters' daughter sadly mourns for Jimberellas Loss
But who was it duffed the cleanskins, who was it stole the horse?
Who was it shot the squatters bull? They’ll blame someone of course
But they’ll have to find a scapegoat, and blame someone in his stead
No more he’ll be dishonoured for Jimberellas dead, Jimberellas dead