The Bloody Piker

The Bloody Piker   (Rewrite)

There's days you gotta throw the coachers, just to get a mob,

Tailing mickeys and tying up pikers, is just part of the job.

When you've thrown your coachers and the whips begin to crack,

You can muster ever onwards, never looking back.

And you’ll watch the lead most careful, so nothing gets away,

For there’s a big old piker bullock and you know he wants to stray.

His head is hidden in the mob; he’s just waiting for his chance,

If the opportunity arises, he’ll lead the ringers a merry dance.

The fellas on the wing, they keep running scrubbers in,

You've another five mile to go before the cutting out begins.

Well you know you're feeling tired and a break you'd like to take,

You been doing a perish for hours and your thirst you'd like to slake.

You see a young bloke roll a smoke and the piker breaks away,

"Useless blooming jackeroo!" but that's not all you're gunna say.

You race up there on the shoulder, that's when the fun begins,

Its times like this you're wishing, that maybe you had wings.

Like those bloody aerial musterers, up there in the sky,

It's on days like this that you wish that you'd learnt to fly.

But you're on a horse and, that bullock he aint going back,

So you’ll have to throw him before he gets off the beaten track.

Now you’re going to have to tie him up, once you get him down,

And you hope that he don't sulk once he’s on the ground.

'Cause it's the want of piker bullocks, to lay and sulk and die,

You've asked yourself so many times, `Why oh bloody why?'

Well you take away his freedom; take all he has to give,

Then you take him from his country and that takes his will to live.

And if you were religious, well I guess you'd hope and pray,

That this bloody piker bullock lives to fight another day.

© Corin Linch      9/05/97