The Pubs Still Make A Good Quid
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Where has the brumby breaker gone the man who lived by luck
Well chances are he's moved to town and drives a council truck
Oh the smithies and the saddlers have taken to the track
The stockmen now ride motorbikes when they muster mobs outback
The northern runs are owned by Yanks, they bought up every head
The rivers are polluted and the Barramundi's dead
The old time ringers are no more in the stock camps further out
And half their scrubbers drowned in
flood and the rest died in a drought
But they drink it down and nearly drowned as fast they ever did
Only one thing hasn't changed outback, the pubs still make a quid
The Swaggies never boil their billies by the billabong
And shearers camp in caravans and seldom sing a song
Along the stock routes of the north the bright stars overhead
Drovers camp in city style with white sheets on the bed
The kangaroos have fled the plain and gone is the dingo dog
The wallabies have left the hill and the buffalo from the bog
And a motel stands upon the spot where a Bushranger once hid
Only one thing hasn't changed outback, the pubs still make a quid
But they drink it down and nearly drowned as fast they ever did
Only one thing hasn't changed outback, the pubs still make a quid
The station homestead is a wreck and the waterholes are dry
And cattle leave their sorry bones beneath a deadly sky
And the Jackaroo rolled up his swag he didn't like the grub
And now he's workin' overtime at some flea bitten pub
Yeah they drink it down and nearly drowned as much they ever did
Only one thing hasn't changed outback the pubs still make a quid