The hunting grounds are gone forever now
And
It’s hard to spear a kangaroo in a gold mine
Or
Catch a goanna at Coles

Woolworths bulldozed our birth trees
Under which many of us mob were born
True ghost gums now

Our black faces annoy them
Often
We sit at their front door in the heat
And
The aircon keeps us mob cool
Small consolation
When the whites open the auto doors

We are banned of course
Only for being black
The white man won’t let us camp inside
Our sacred birth places are trampled
Daily

A thousand white feet
Pass
With no respect for our mothers
Or
Our birth trees