Ode To The Magnificent Seven

There was movement at the station, for the word had passed around That McLaughlan from Gamboola wants to get away,

And he’d mapped a trip that was Australian desert bound.

So all the cracks had gathered to the fray. All the tried and noted drivers from the townships near and far had mustered at the Tibooburra pub overnight, For the drivers love hard driving where the wild bush tracks are, And they snuff at this adventurous plan with sheer delight.

There were the Patterson’s, who made their pile in Hawthorn when times were really tough, the old man with his hair as white as snow; But few could drive beside him when his blood was fairly up, he would go wherever his trusty Iandcruiser and woman would go.

And the Beverlys of Beechworth came down to lend a hand, no better drivers ever held the reins of that Isuzu truck. For never a 4 wheel drive could faze them while the engine could with stand, They learnt to drive while driving on the plains now the Tanami beckoned from afar.

And one was there, a stripling in an old and weedy Navara beast; It was something like a racehorse undersized, With a touch of Timor pony three parts thoroughbred at least and such as are by all the other drivers prized. He was hard and tough and wiry, just the sort that won't say die and there was courage in his quick impatient tread; And he bore the badge of gameness in his bright and fiery eye and the proud and lofty carriage of his head.

But still so slight and weedy, one would doubt his cars power to stay the course, And the Pattersons said, "That car will never do for a long and tiring drive, McLaughlin lad, you'd better stop away, Those hills are far too rough for such as you.

But still determined sad and wistful only Beverly stood his friend "I think we ought to let him come," he said; "I warrant he'll be with us when he's wanted at the end, For both his ute and he are toughly bred. "He hails from Gamboola, up by the Central Western side, Where the roads are twice as steep and twice as rough, Where a Nervaras wheels strike firelight from the flint stones with every stride, The man that holds his own is good enough.

And the Magnificent 7 out in the deserts make their home, Where the river runs dry in those giant hills between; We have seen full many drivers since we first commenced to roam, But nowhere yet such magnificent 7 have we met!Okumaya devam et