| Queenie was born on the banks of the great Ord River, 1930, maybe
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| Her mother was black, her daddy white
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| Daddy was a fine horse breaker, mama sang the songs of the old lawmakers
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| She used to hide young Queenie in the bush
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| Rub black charcoal all over her hair and her face
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| Every time the police came around, looking for any blonde-haired brown-skinned
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| children
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| To round ‘em all up, take ‘em on down town
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| Shine on, shine on, immortal one
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| Shine on, shine on, immortal one
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| Rover was born in the desert, lived out there ‘til his mother died
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| Then he moved around a lot from place to place
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| Bedford Downs, Bow River, Lissadell, Wyndham,
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| Building fences, working as a stockman
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| Then he had a series of dreams
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| Started painting what he’d heard and seen
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| Rainbow serpent, Krill Krill, Cyclone Tracy, the killing fields,
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| Everything that lives and breathes
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| Ride on, ride on, immortal ones
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| Ride on, ride on, immortal ones
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| When Rover and Queenie were young they met out on Texas Downs station
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| She worked as a cook there for a long long time
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| She said «Hey, Cowboy!» |
| later on she said
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| «Nice boy, good worker, top rider, lucky one, that one»
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| One day a mean horse ripped the scalp from his head
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| She stitched him up with a boiled needle and thread
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| Good as any doctor, they were friends everafter
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| She said «I wanna paint», he said «I'll teach ya»
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| They died within months of each other
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| Ride on, ride on, immortal ones
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| Shine on, shine on, immortal ones
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| Your story will always run
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| Forever run
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| Forever young |