By Boyd Mould
OLD Amos Hedger’s cashed his chips,
No more he’ll go on droving trips,
No more stale bread will pass the lips
Of frugal Amos Hedger
No more now ‘round Snowy plain
Will rangers ride the rough terrain
In search of cattle – all in vain,
They’ve gone with Amos Hedger.
This lone man lived his life like that,
The mountains his true habitat,
And Home was just the coat and hat
Of bushman A...
