Melbourne last March.
We met a man, this proud man, his son singing so grand!
Watching his son playing to the crowd.
This artful codger was a real drinking dodger.
He graced our table and others on the dance floor, crooning all before.
He collected the beer glasses to socialize the tables.
His current trade as dog-man on building sites
He told of his twelve kids.
This dinkum man was Ballarat born.
He worked from town to town as the dodgem man
This ex carnival worker,
Never the shirker!
Travelled the old droving track from Queensland and back.
Loving life and cheating on his wife.
His face has aged ahead of his years.
His bushman’s hat and a face like a map.
All the folk he had met and all the yarns
He said mate tell my story!
He seemed proud of the life he'd spun.
Stories flowed from his face etched by the sun.
His mustache silver glowed on his face.
His dog-mans key hanging from his neck.
His life seem to depend on this chattel
This is man, one should not rattle.
He talked of other times butchering cattle.
We did not mind his company at all.
This mans a friend to one and all.
I leave this story for you to read.
I don’t think he minded what you believe.
He’d have another trick up his sleeve.
