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Big galvanised roofs and monster pipes black |
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Pink and white clouds from a chimney stack |
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Red dust and hawks in the wind out back |
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And here I am at the Isa |
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What do you do in a town like the Isa |
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Retrenched at 50 become an old miser |
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Drink yourself blind so you're none the wiser |
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Sit at home with the race form and whinge |
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Just over the hill in his own backyard |
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The landscape becomes a picture postcard |
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Where the colours are soft but the life is hard |
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On the stations here at the Isa |
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Tonight's the night of the rodeo ball |
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Before riders and bull and horses stand tall |
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While out in the park some black people sprawl |
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And share their money on flagons |
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There's so much more to be understood |
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Before coming out here like Robin Hood |
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The do-gooders do more harm than good |
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Without really knowing the Isa |
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Through the Leichhardt East |
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Where fools gold flashes |
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Fossick around for Maltese Crosses |
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Flog them off to the tourist buses |
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See ghost gums under the moon |
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Some really battle some make do |
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The luckier ones make a quid and pull through |
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Some perch at the bar like a caged cockatoo |
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But that's nothing new at the Isa |
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And it takes a special kind of girl |
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To stay out here in this rugged world |
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Keep your dignity when the oathes are hurled |
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I pay my respects to you |
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And I'll raise my glass to an outback town |
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To that weathered spirit that won't back down |
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It takes the courage of a rodeo clown |
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To stick it out at the Isa |
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Big galvanised roofs and monster pipes black |
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Pink and white clouds from a chimney stack |
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Red dust and hawks in the wind out back |
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And here I am at the Isa |
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Never thought I'd return to this lonely track |
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And here I am back at the Isa |
