The sheep are yarded, an? I sit Beside the fire an? poke at it. Far from talk an? booze o? men Glad, I?m glad I?m back agen On the station, wi? me traps An? fencin? wire, an? tanks an? taps, Back to salt-bush plains, an? flocks, An? old bark hut be the apple-box. I turn the slipjack, make the tea, All?s as still as still can be - An? the old black billy winks at me.