Dribbler Bill - Slim Dusty
I see him still ole Dribbler Bill,
his frame as hard as gidgee,
He drove the mail on Bridal
Tracks in country soft and rigid,
Never had too much to say
but when he did was just a drawl,
And ya’ kinda got the feelin',
he'd be handy in a brawl.
His Leyland truck was like ole Bill,
gusty, rough and slow.
He took that truck through country
where a dozer wouldn't go,
Yeah, but he's been bogged down tyre deep,
back in Coober Hole,
When others turned their trucks around
and headed back for home.
Now old Bill would do those little things
for bush folk far from town,
Had a memory like Sir Sydney,
never wrote the items down,
Newspapers he would put inside,
mailbox on the ridge,
And every stop along the way,
had somethin' for the kids.
He was seen to be a lonely man
like one deprived of luck,
An outward sign did only make was
that old Leyland truck,
He'd caress that smooth ole steerin'
wheel, ease along the track,
The last words that I heard him say was,
"See ya later Jack."
Now the mail still serves the far outback,
the jobs they handle fine,
But mem'ries dwell on Dribbler Bill way back in '39,
I remember every mail night,
the excitement and the thrill,
As we sat outside and waited for the likes of Dribbler Bill.
Oh, there's many times he helped us out
when tucker got real slack.
Like fresh meat from the bullocks
secured from somewhere up the track,
Yeah, great old man was Dribbler Bill
the kind who'd always stick,
And he'd risk his life without a thought
for the needy and the sick. Hey!
Now I'd like to think
that Dribbler Bill still has the wheel in hand,
Pushin' that old Leyland truck
throughout that channel land,
Should there be no trucks in heaven, it's a halo to a pup,
Just give old Bill a day or two and he'll start a mail run up.
Yeah so long Bill.
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