Now the big wet is over and the creeks are all full
And the green grasses bow to the breeze
And the drought stricken breeders of not long ago
Are chewing their cud neath the trees.
The horse bells are ringing on the gulf country runs
Peninsula camps are a stirr.
Horse trailers and ringers and cooks full of fight
Fresh from the big city's lure.
Down on the basalt, the word has gone out.
For all the good ringers to come.
They laugh and they joke as they roll up their swags
and take a last pull at the rum.
And a dusky young maiden way out at the wheel
is sayin' good bye to her bo.
"Oh Johnny McDarling, oh stay true to me
Till we meet at that big rodeo,"
Johnny rides off to the Yelvertoft camps
with a smile and a song in his heart.
He knows she'll be waiting when the muster is done
and never again will they part.
Way out on the Cooper where the channels run wide
and seldom if ever it rains.
They're greasin' their saddles and checkin' their gear
as soon they'll be riding again.
Deep in the heart of the brigalow scrub
Where the wiley old cleanskins reside
Old pikers are rising and sniffing the air
Weary of ringers who ride.
Ride on wild horses as wild as themselves
Hellbent for leather though scrub
To run down the scrubbers and take them to sale
And spend the rewards in the pub.
Yeah the big wet is over and the creeks are all full
And the country is smiling again
Oh we paise the good lord for the blessing he gives
In the form of this live giving rain.
Yeah the big wet is over and the creeks are all full
and the country is smiling again. Hey!