Under the brim of an akubra hat, lies a story burning to be told.
It's whisper lies in the sweat stained brow, it's travelled ground on an old pulled plough.
And within this pair of old blue jeans, lies grease stains off some big machines.
There's a story found in these weathered hands, out west to the red dirt sands.
The tales from the shearing shed, the cattle that my dad has led,
our farmers have a yarn to share.