Nine Miles From Gundagai

I've done my share of shearing sheep,Of droving and all that,And bogged a bullock team as wellOn a Murrumbidgee flat.I've seen the bullock stretch and strain,And blink his bleary eve,And the dog sat on the tucker box,Nine miles from Gundagai.

I've been jilted, jarred and crossed in love,And sand-bagged in the dark,And if a mountain fell on meI'd treat it as a lark.It's when you've got your bullocks bogged.That's the time you flog and cry,And the dog sits on the tucker box,Nine miles from Gundagai.

We've all got our little troublesIn life's hard thorny way,Some strike them in a motor carAnd others in a dray.But when you're dog and bullocks strikeIt ain't no apple pie,And the dog sits on the tucker box,Nine miles from Gundagai.

But that's all past and dead and gone,And I've sold the team for meat,And perhaps some day where I was boggedThere'll be an asphalt street.The dog, ah well, he got a bait,And thought he'd like to die,So I buried him in the tucker boxNine miles from Gundagai.