Slim Dusty – Medley (Guitar Live)

C
Charley

      C            G             C
I was talkin' to a Swaggie yesterday

    F                                  C
His beard was long his hair was silver grey

    G                              C
His dress was out of style, but he wore a friendly smile

    D                               G
And here is what the old man had to say

         C             G          C
"You may think me most unusual my boy

       F                                 C
When I tell ya straight that I am stoney broke

     F                                   C
I've tramped from year to year, and I'll drink all kinds of beer

                        G            C
But I must have good terbaccy when I smoke"

          C                 G            C
"Now I'll show ya this here old terbacca tin

        F                                   C
Oh, the paint is gone, the sides are dinted in

         F                            C
But it's opened many a bottle in it's wild and chequered life

                 G             C
And to me it has always been a friend"

          C          G                C
"Now when finally, I reach the golden gates

         F                            C
Oh, they say St. Peter, he's a decent bloke

       F                                C
If I'm taken with the blessed this will be my last request

                        G            C
Oh, I must have good terbaccy when I smoke. Hey.

A
  Now here's one that really started it all off for me.

N.C.   A      E            A          A7
Let me wander north to the homestead

    D                       A     A7
Way out further on there to roam

     D                     A
By a gully in flood let me linger

                              E
When the summery sunshine has flown

          A           E         A           A7
Where the logs tangle up on the creek beds

    D                          A       A7
And clouds veil the old northern sky

        D                         A
And the cattle move back from the lowlands

                      E         A
When the rain tumbles down in July

    A        E          A         A7
The sleeping gums on the hillside

 D                       A
Awaken to herds straying by

         D                           A
From the flats where the fences have vanished

                              E
As the storm clouds gather on high

    A            E           A      A7
The drover draws rein by the river

         D                           A
And it's years since he's seen it so high

         D                      A
Yes, and that's just a story of Homewood

                      E         A
When the rain tumbles down in July

A  A  G# F#  E
             Hey

E
     Thank you.

E        B7           E
Tall and freckled and sandy

                  B7    A
Face of a country lout

                     E
This was the picture of Andy

F#                B7
Middleton's rouseabout

E         B7     E
Type of a coming nation

                        B7     A
In a land of cattle and sheep

                         E
He worked on Middleton's station

      F#      B7           E
For a pound a week and his keep

   E           B7     E
On Middleton's wide dominions

                        B7      A
Plied the stockwhip and shears

                    E
And he uh, hadn't any opinions

       F#         B7
and he hadn't any ideas

E           B7         E
Swiftly the years went over

                          B7      A
And liquor and drought prevailed

                            E
And Middleton, he went as a drover ya know

F#        B7          E
After his station had failed

    E          B7    E
And now on his own dominions

                      B7     A
We works with his overseers

                      E
And he still hasn't any opinions ya know

       F#     B7   E    E
and he hasn't any ideas

D
Thank you very much.

G             D    A7    D
Appreciate it.           Hey

D                      A7
Trumby was a ringer, a good one too at that

                                          D
He could ride and rake a twister, throw a rope and fancy plait

         G                              D
He could counter line a saddle, track a man lost in the night

G            D                A7               D
Trumby was a good boy, but he couldn't read or write.

D                         A7
Trumby was dependable, he never took to beer

                                     D
The boss admired him so much one day made him overseer

       G                               D
Oh, it never went to Trumby's head, he didn't boast or skite

G            D               A7               D
Trumby was a good boy but he couldn't read or write. Hey

D                      A7
Trumby was a ringer, a good one too at that

                                          D
He could ride and rake a twister, throw a rope and fancy plait

       G                                   D
And of times I think how sad it is in this world with all its might

       G               D                       A7               D
That a man like Trumby met his death 'cause he couldn't read or write.

A7               D
Couldn't read or write.

A7               D           D
Couldn't read or write. Hey

G
Thank you. Here's a little classy piece. A bit of substance in this one.

        G                                            D
Now the Drover's cook weighted fifteen stone, and he had one bloodshot eye

                                                   G
He had no laces in his boots and no buttons on his fly

                                               C
His pants hung loosely round his hips, hitched by a piece of wire

         D                                                  G
and they concertinaed round his boots, in a way that you'd admire

         G                                                    D
Well, he stuck the billy on the boil and then emptied out his pipe

                                                     G
and with his greasy shirt sleeve, he gave his nose a wipe

                                                C
And with pipe in mouth, he mixed the sod, and a drip hung from his chin

    D                                                 G
And as he mixed the damper up, the drip kept dripping in

  G                                       D
I walked quietly over to him, and I said "Toss that mixture out,

                                                              G
And in future when you're working, keep your pipe out of your mouth"

                                     C
Oh, he stood erect and eyed me, with such a dirty look

       D                                                  G
And he said in choice Australian, "ah, get another bloody cook!" Hey

C
Thank you very much. Here's a, here's a very sad, dry ballad.

N.C.       C                       F
Oh, it's a-lonesome away from your kindred and all

       G                                         C
By the campfire at night, where the wild dingoes call

                                   F
But there's a-nothing so lonesome, morbid, or drear

        G                                 C
Then to stand in the bar of a Pub with No Beer

        C                          F
Now the publican's anxious for the quota to come

              G                               C
And there's a faraway look on the face of the bum

                                   F
The maid's gone all cranky and the cook's acting queer

           G                               C
Oh, what a terrible place is a Pub with No Beer

        C                               F
And Old Billy the Blacksmith, the first time in his life

         G                                    C
Why he's gone home cold sober, to his darling wife

                                          F
he walks in the kitchen, she says "You're early Bill, dear"

            G                         N.C.              C
But then he breaks down and tells her, "It's too bloody dear" Hey.

           C                       F
So, it's a lonesome away from your kindred and all

       G                                         C
By the campfire at night, where the wild dingoes call

                                   F
But there's a-nothing so lonesome, morbid, or drear

        G                                      C     F    C  G  C
Then to stand in the bar of that Pub With-a No Beer