Smudger Smith
Posted: Wed Mar 07, 2012 4:01 pm
The bar is always crowded and noisy
Friday nights the cockies were in town
Bob Dickie kept wood on the fire
Four big bloody logs heated the public bar
Of the Mount Jeffcott Hotel
Outside it was cold windy and wet
Standing on the hearth holding court
Smudger Smith had done every job T'was always hard
Worked with drongos, in the rain, snow, cyclones and heat
Been the back o' Bourke, over the Snowies, north and south
Friday was his day, talked to all that'd listen
With tales that sometimes hinted of truth
The only bloke to see a fifty foot croc
Cane toad three foot across the shoulders
Shook hands with Smithy, helped him fix his plane
Places and times always changed
Old Smudger would look ya in the eye
Forgetting he'd told ya the tale 50 bloody ways
Ya think it's cold or ya think it's wet
Was always the way Smudger started in winter
Hot and dusty his favourite in summer
The time it snowed in Broken Hill
Rain flooded the Alice
Bulldust flew thick and fast
Five foot eight and nine stone wringing wet
Battered old army hat atop his head
Sleeves always rolled above the elbows
A rolly hangin' from his bottom lip
Glass of Carlton Draught his poison
He was one hell of a character
Came to town about 15 year ago
The wind had blown all bloody week
Dust covered half the town
Fightin' against it for days
Smudger, his horse, dog and 150 head
Of merinos heading to agistment
A hot Wednesday in February
Smudger first breasted the bar
The first beer never touched the sides
Bloody hell it tasted so flamin' good
Spent the afternoon washing away the dust
Tellin' his story to all who'd listen
Slept under the stars that night
His dog, Kitchener, and horse, King George,
Shared a stable at the show grounds
Next day they found a hut and moved in
Bugger bein' a drover, I've had enough
Got a job next door at the race course
Friday nights the cockies were in town
Bob Dickie kept wood on the fire
Four big bloody logs heated the public bar
Of the Mount Jeffcott Hotel
Outside it was cold windy and wet
Standing on the hearth holding court
Smudger Smith had done every job T'was always hard
Worked with drongos, in the rain, snow, cyclones and heat
Been the back o' Bourke, over the Snowies, north and south
Friday was his day, talked to all that'd listen
With tales that sometimes hinted of truth
The only bloke to see a fifty foot croc
Cane toad three foot across the shoulders
Shook hands with Smithy, helped him fix his plane
Places and times always changed
Old Smudger would look ya in the eye
Forgetting he'd told ya the tale 50 bloody ways
Ya think it's cold or ya think it's wet
Was always the way Smudger started in winter
Hot and dusty his favourite in summer
The time it snowed in Broken Hill
Rain flooded the Alice
Bulldust flew thick and fast
Five foot eight and nine stone wringing wet
Battered old army hat atop his head
Sleeves always rolled above the elbows
A rolly hangin' from his bottom lip
Glass of Carlton Draught his poison
He was one hell of a character
Came to town about 15 year ago
The wind had blown all bloody week
Dust covered half the town
Fightin' against it for days
Smudger, his horse, dog and 150 head
Of merinos heading to agistment
A hot Wednesday in February
Smudger first breasted the bar
The first beer never touched the sides
Bloody hell it tasted so flamin' good
Spent the afternoon washing away the dust
Tellin' his story to all who'd listen
Slept under the stars that night
His dog, Kitchener, and horse, King George,
Shared a stable at the show grounds
Next day they found a hut and moved in
Bugger bein' a drover, I've had enough
Got a job next door at the race course
