Written by Dick Roberts
To see it again through my father’s eyes,
A time when things seemed fair.
Before the big dams came and washed away,
A way of life up there.
Before the parkies came and left their stain,
And burnt our culture bare.
I want to go back down that old bush track,
Am I the only one who cares.
When wildflowers grew across the slopes,
And blanked the whole high plains.
When the cattle roamed and the old bull moaned,
Days we’ll never see again.
When the drovers came and the etched their names,
In Banjo’s hall of fame.
When all the stockman rode, just like the ode,
No better ever held the reins.
Where huts were built amongst the sallee gums,
And the water did run near.
Where autumn cracks, and the frosts come back,
Early snow falls they did fear.
Where the clover grows under the winter snow,
And no tourists were seen up here.
Where the kero light was a welcome sight,
For the mountain pioneer.
So please take me back to the yesterdays,
When the future wasn’t so near.
When the bush was free from the powers that be,
Before things changed up here.
Before the big dams came and washed away,
A way of life up there.
Before the parkies came and left their stain,
And burnt our culture bare.
Nelle's journey 