D                      A                    D
He sat by the door of the grand old Birdsville Pub
    G                 D                            A
His swag and gear was guarded by a faithful heeler dog
          D                                               G
He wore a shirt that would blind ya and a rumpled ringers hat
D                            A                D
This old man was country, he left no doubt of that

        D                             A                   D
Well he sang of mobs of cattle moving down the Birdsville track
        G              D                         A
And the camels carting wool in the early days outback
           D                                           G  
He sang of wild eyed scrubbers runnin' flat out in the night
D                                A                   D 
Tryin' to ring the mob cause the lightnin's quick to fright

[Chorus]
             G                      D
He sat there hillbilly pickin' on a cracked and battered Gibson
A                                   D
And the songs that he sang were all his
      G                         D
Every song told a story and the more that I listened
                            A             D      
The more I realised this is where country is

[Verse 2]
D                                         A               D
Well his songs told how they did it and I felt a sense of shame
      G               D                     A   
And I wondered if the battler would ever be again
    D                                       G
His pride in his country rang true in every song
      D                                    A                D
And I wondered if the chips were down if I ever would be as strong