We’ll go another fifty miles lads
So the traps see no smoke
On the cooking fire

And we’ll shoot rabbits out of earshot

Bedding is dry tonight the rain looks far
A chance to sit awhile
And wash

Set the horses away to graze
As if running free

A big day beckons in fear tomorrow
Of those hunting rewards

Grab your horse and mount early my boys
We are bushrangers

We are the hunted we are playing only with time

Guessing our obituaries