C There's many a F shack along the C T.T. Am track,
Where the C workers rest from toil G7
From C working through the F night on the C rhyo-Am-lite,
Or shoveling twenty G7 thousand yards of soil. C
With F axe and C pick, where the G7 bush was C thick,
In F gullies where the C sun can't G7 shine,
We C drove the F tracks by the C strength of our Am backs,
When we built the G7 T.T. C line.
How we cursed the flies as we laid the ties
In blazing summer heat.
With ice on the rails in the winter gales,
We struggled hard to keep our feet.
The gullies were filled with the blasted hills,
The bridges built with timber from the trees,
And at night in the camp, by a kero lamp,
We did as we damned well pleased!
You may go and stand where the line once ran,
And listen for the sound
Of the dynamite and the camps at night,
And the laborers who broke the ground.
Platelayers, riveters and firemen,
Blacksmiths, loggers, cooks and engineers -
If you listen, then you'll hear the sounds again,
Over more than eighty years.
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