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Well I've ripped and dug out burrows on a sandy bulloak hill, |
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Eradicating rabbits doesn't take a lot of skill |
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But a boy born in the Mallee doesn't find 'em hard to kill |
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No self-respecting farmer lets a rodent eat his wheat |
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He'll shoot 'em and he'll skin 'em and he'll dress 'em up to eat |
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But since the spread of mixo he's almost got 'em beat |
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And I don't mind at all if you call me a Mallee boy |
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Where little town dogs howl at the morning train, |
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Where a cocky makes a living on twelve inches of rain |
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Where his woman provides and is rare to complain |
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And I still love the smell of that sandy soil, |
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Some say it's dusty, some say it's gold |
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Cause it grows the sweetest fat lambs the markets ever sold |
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And I don't mind at all if you call me a Mallee Boy, |
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OooooooohOOOOOOOOOOOHooooooooH |
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No I don't mind at all if you call me a Mallee Boy. |
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Where you can lose an ear on duck opening day, |
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Where slickers bring their shotguns from miles away, |
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And shoot the life out of shags and swans that fly their way. |
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Where a bloke grows as stocky as a Mallee bull, |
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Where they come from miles around to see the tractor pull, |
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When the paddocks are clean and seed silos are full, |
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And I don't mind at all if you call me a Mallee Boy. |
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Well I've ripped and dug out burrows on a sandy bulloak hill, |
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Eradicating rabbits doesn't take a lot of skill, |
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And a boy born in the Mallee doesn't find 'em hard to kill. |
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But they'll never be as rare as a Quandong tree |
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My grandma made some jam for my brothers and me |
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They're like the Mallee Fowl you hardly ever see |
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But I don't mind at all if you call me a Mallee Boy. |
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No I don't mind at all if you call me a Mallee Boy. |
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oooooooohOOOOOOOOOOOHooooooooH |
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No I don't mind at all if you call me a Mallee Boy |
