Darting to catch the grubs that drop.
(Chip! . . Chop! . . Chip! . . Chop!)

The blows come quicker. The axe-biade hums,
Stand well back, there, before she comes!
Hark! How the splinters crack and pop--
(Chip! . . Chop! . . Chip! . . Chop!)
Listen! Listen! She's creaking now!
Look, high up, at that trembling bough!
Another second, and down she'll smash,
Shaking the earth with a mighty crash;
Look at her! Look at her! (Chip! Chop!
Chip! . . . . . . . .Chip!)
Wee--E--E--E--E--E---
FLOP!



THE DROVERS

Out across the spinifex, out across the sand,
Out across the saltbush to Never Never land
That's the way the drovers go, jogging down the track--
That's the way the drovers go. But how do they come back?
Back across the saltbush from Never Never land.
Back across the spinifex, back across the sand.



THE LONG ROAD HOME