With an old .22 I went out for a roo
To feed up my old cattle hound
with the light growing dim
For all I had left was one round
And drove to a tank on the run
Where roos come to drink,
that's the best place I think,
A man's almost certain for one.
I lined up a doe in the stance of a pro,
The rifle held tight in my fist.
for this roo it meant death,
I squeezed on the trigger but missed.
That rifle and cursed at my aim
I came for a rue and that's what I will do
The old dog will eat just the same
And bailed up a buck kangaroo
Then armed with the stick,
Never dreaming just what he would do
My shirt was ripped open both sides
And the next thing I knew,
as I sparred with that rue
I was minus a pair of good strides
I was kicked to the ground
With hoppers I thought were of steel
Then away I did shoot like
With that old kangaroo on my heels
Went bounding away through the night
And passed out on the seat like a light
And aching all over to boot
My trousers and shirt are no more,
I arrived home in my birthday suit
Now I've knocked around in
Cook of eating and many, that's true
with the scars that I bare
