Store cattle from Nelanjie! The mob goes feeding past, 
With half-a-mile of sandhill 'twixt the leaders and the last; 
The nags that move behind them are the good old Queensland stamp- 
Short backs and perfect shoulders that are priceless on a camp; 
And these are men that ride them, broad-cheated, tanned, and tall, 
The bravest hearts amongst us and the lightest hands of all: 
Oh, let them wade in Wonga grass and taste the Wonga dew, 
And let them spread, those thousand head-for we've been droving tool 

Store cattle from Nelanjie! By half-a-hundred towns, 
By northern ranges rough and red, by rolling open downs 
By stock-routes brown and burnt and bare, by floodwrapped river-bends, 
They've hunted them from gate to gate-the drover has no friends! 
But idly they may ride to-day beneath the scorching sun 
And let the hungry bullocks try the grass on Wonga run; 
No overseer will dog them here to "see the cattle through," 
But they may spread their thousand head-for we've been droving too! 

Store cattle from Nelanjie! They've a naked track to steer; 
The stockyards at Wodonga are a long way down from here; 
The creeks won't run till God knows when, and half the holes are dry; 
The tanks are few and far between and water's dear to buy: 
There's plenty at the Brolga bore for all his stock and mine- 
We'll pass him with a brave God-speed across the Border Line; 
And if he goes a five-mile stage and loiters slowly through, 
We'll only think the more of him-for we've been droving too I 

Store cattle from Nelanjie! They're mute as milkers now; 
But yonder grizzled drover, with the care-lines on his brow, 
Could tell of merry musters on the big Nelanjie plains, 
With blood upon the chestnut's flanks and foam upon the reins; 
Could tell of nights upon the road when those same mild-eyed steers 
Went ringing round the river bend and through the scrub like spears; 
And if his words are rude and rough, we know his words are true, 
We know what wild Nelanjies are-and we've been droving too ! 

Store cattle from Nelanjie! Around the fire at night 
They've watched the pine-tree shadows lift before the dancing light; 
They've lain awake to listen when the weird bushvoices speak, 
And heard the lilting bells go by along the empty creek; 
They've spun the yarns of hut and camp, the tales of play and work, 
The wondrous tales that gild the road from Normanton to Bourke; 
They've told of fortunes foul and fair, of women false and true, 
And well we know the songs they've sung-for we've been droving too! 

Store cattle from Nelanjie! Their breath is on the breeze; 
You hear them tread, a thousand head, in blue-grass to the knees; 
The lead is on the netting-fence, the wings are spreading wide, 
The lame and laggard scarcely move so slow the drovers ride! 
But let them stay and feed to-day for sake of Auld Lang Syne; 
They'll never get a chance like this below the Border Iodine; 
And if they tread our frontage down, what's that to me or you? 
What's ours to fare, by God they'll shared for we've been droving tool