Typed and Presented by Ken Webb (Katsina)
Mates.
I've travelled down some lonely roads,
Both crooked tracks and straight.
An' I've learned lifes noblest creed,
Summed up in one word _ "Mate",
I'm thinkin back across the years,
( A thing I do of late. )
An this word sticks between me ears'
You've got to have a mate.
Someone who'll take you as you are,
Regardless of your state.
And stand as firm as Ayers Rock,
Because 'e is your mate.
Me mind goes back to ' 43,
To slavery and hate,
When one mans chance to stay alive,
Depended on is mate.
With bamboo for a billy can,
And bamboo for a plate,
A bamboo paradise for bugs,
Was a bed for me an me mate.
You'd slip and slither through the mud,
A'n curse your rotten fate,
But then you'd hear a quiet word,
"Don't drop your bundle mate".
And though it's all so long ago,
This truth I have to state,
A man don't know what lonely is,
"Till he's lost his mate".
If there's a life that follers this,
If there's a Golden Gate,
The welcome that I wanna hear,
Is just, good on yer mate.
And so to all who ask us why,
We keep these special dates,
Like " Anzac Day" , I answer,
"Why" we're thinking of our mates,
And when I've left the drivers seat,
An handed in me plates.
I'll tell ol' Peter at the door,
I've come to join me mates.
" A Digger "
Mates.
I've travelled down some lonely roads,
Both crooked tracks and straight.
An' I've learned lifes noblest creed,
Summed up in one word _ "Mate",
I'm thinkin back across the years,
( A thing I do of late. )
An this word sticks between me ears'
You've got to have a mate.
Someone who'll take you as you are,
Regardless of your state.
And stand as firm as Ayers Rock,
Because 'e is your mate.
Me mind goes back to ' 43,
To slavery and hate,
When one mans chance to stay alive,
Depended on is mate.
With bamboo for a billy can,
And bamboo for a plate,
A bamboo paradise for bugs,
Was a bed for me an me mate.
You'd slip and slither through the mud,
A'n curse your rotten fate,
But then you'd hear a quiet word,
"Don't drop your bundle mate".
And though it's all so long ago,
This truth I have to state,
A man don't know what lonely is,
"Till he's lost his mate".
If there's a life that follers this,
If there's a Golden Gate,
The welcome that I wanna hear,
Is just, good on yer mate.
And so to all who ask us why,
We keep these special dates,
Like " Anzac Day" , I answer,
"Why" we're thinking of our mates,
And when I've left the drivers seat,
An handed in me plates.
I'll tell ol' Peter at the door,
I've come to join me mates.
" A Digger "