There’s a happy little valley on the Eumerella shore,
Where I’ve lingered many happy hours away,
On my little free selection I have acres by the score,
Where I unyoke the bullocks from the dray.
To my bullocks then I say
No matter where you stray,
You will never be impounded any more;
For you’re running, running, running on the duffer’s piece of land,
Free selected on the Eumerella shore.
When the moon has climbed the mountains and the stars are shining bright,
Then we saddle up our horses and away,
And we yard the squatters’ cattle in the darkness of the night,
And we have the calves all branded by the day.
Oh, my pretty little calf,
At the squatter you may laugh,
For he’ll never be your owner any more;
For you’re running, running, running on the duffer’s piece of land,
Free selected on the Eumerella shore.
If we find a mob of horses when the paddock rails are down,
Although before they’re never known to stray,
Oh, quickly will we drive them to some distant inland town,
And sell them into slav’ry far away.
To Jack Robertson we’ll say
You’ve been leading us astray,
And we’ll never go a-farming any more;
For it’s easier duffing cattle on the little piece of land
Free selected on the Eumerella shore.
