The Jimberella Kid - Slim Dusty

He rambled and he gambled and fire burnt in his veins

He fought and swore and drank and danced was dishonoured for his pains

But he’d never cheat upon a friend;

he lived by the bushman’s code

And no man feared for wife or child where Jimberella rode

But when the native stockman was smashed against a tree

He rode the 40 miles for help through a night like ebony

And none could ride beside him when the scrubbers made their bid

With who and spur he carved his name, the Jimberella kid

But who was it duffed the cleanskins, who was it stole the horse?

Who was it shot the squatters bull?

They’ll blame someone of course

But they have to find a scapegoat, for they can’t find out who did

And they’ll blame that wild young stockman, The Jimberella Kid

A thousand head of cattle, camped by the Wilga hole

A surging restless flighty mob, 5 stockmen in control

And riding up to see the herd though her father might forbid

The squatters daughter rode beside the Jimberella Kid

And when the laughing couple rode by the Wilga hole

They stirred a dingo from the creek and across the flat he stole

It was then the new chum jackaroo drew rifle from its sheath

And unheeded went the cry that ripped from Jimberellas teeth

But who was it duffed the cleanskins, who was it stole the horse?

Who was it shot the squatters bull?

They’ll blame someone of course

But they have to find a scapegoat, for they can’t find out who did

So they’ll blame that wild young stockman, The Jimberella Kid

The shot echoed across the flat as the dingo met his death

And a thousand head of cattle rose in a single breath

They swept down in an avalanche of hoofs and horns and hide

And for his life and for his love did Jimberella ride

2 horses in the race for life spurred on by rein and heel

Til stumbling on a fallen the tree the girls' mare began to reel

Then hurled its rider from its back as to the ground it slid

Then to her side swiftly leapt the Jimberella kid

He used his body as a shield to save his only love

But the girl lay safe beneath him as death rained from above

And now he sleeps forever out beneath the Southern Cross

And the squatters' daughter sadly mourns for Jimberellas Loss

But who was it duffed the cleanskins, who was it stole the horse?

Who was it shot the squatters bull?

They’ll blame someone of course

But they’ll have to find a scapegoat, and blame someone in his stead

No more he’ll be dishonoured for Jimberellas dead, Jimberellas dead