Am C G Am
I've mustered from Southland, through Central and North,
C G Am
In that rough barren country of tussock and gorse.
C G Am
And I've listened to songs that the old shearers tell,
C G Am
And passed them along with me own tales as well.
Chorus
C G Am
McKenzie, McKenzie was that you I saw,
C G Am
Roaming them backhills just up from Benmore,
C G Am
With 50 odd sheep and a good shepherd's dog.
C D Am
Was it your ghost in the morning fog?
They tell of McKenzie, sheep stealer they say,
He stole squatter's sheep and he drove them away,
With one strong eyed dog who could hypnotise sheep,
To a far distant land where no white man had been.
Some say you were criminal, some say a good man,
Put down by the law and your dog it was damned.
They took you to prison but you set yourself free,
Then they took you again, your dog hung from a tree.
Them high country gales that blow through the night,
Where the musterers camp in the fire's dim light,
They often bring sounds way off in the dark,
Like a lone shepherd's whistle and a lone shepherd's bark.
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