Before Ballimore

I made it out To Castlereagh By peddling Along the verge Banjo said 'tis the land of lots o time' That will do me Just fine I seen lots of sheep Wasn't sure if they were Conroy's So enquired Of Old mate Standing By his gate 108 In the shade he was This old man And a paddock Full of sheep 'Conroys gone Same with his son And the mail man He don't ride no more You'll see no drovers camp fires And as for big lagoons With flocks of birds Only in your sleep Teamsters toiling No Roadtrains belching Out here On Castlereagh I made my fortune And lost it too Just like that Big blue sapphire I found digging that Fence line If the season was good I wouldn't had holes In my pockets For it to fall through He didn't lement his loss You get use to it Out here On Castlereagh I make money from mud But not from dust That's how you do it On this land But you do it for the love of it ? He looked at me With his weathered face And jaundice coloured eyes No No Once I did But not now I love me dogs I do it for them I breathe this mountain air And when I can't I will be dead Along with Banjo Conroy and his son With a whistle The dogs were gone Be seeing you he said Back on the verge I left Old mate By the gate Time to find Ballimore