By BOYD MOULD - Recollections of the Snowy River Stockmen
Maybe I’m averse to change
A victim of increasing age
I seem to like the way things used to be
Sime, I s’pose, brand me eccentric
Can’t convert bush miles to metric
And don’t like plastic cups or teabag tea
Remember when the quartpot stole
A place in every stockman’s roll?
On the offside of the saddle it would be
And when the sun had topped...
