From the sunburnt plains of far off north Australia
Came a fella born to ride the wide brown land
Oh he grew [bad word] wild
But soon by all was styled
As the country's greatest ever droving man
Oh his legend rode the winds from Broome to Darwin
They loved and loathed him right from end to end
When the drover gave his heart
To a girl whose skin was dark
From that day on he was no white-man's friend
So goes The Drover's story, you'll hear it near and far
And in the end it's all he'll ever own.
It says the outcast is a free man
If he sleeps under the stars
Makes the blanket of the southern skies his home
Then they called him up to fight for Mother England
In a far off war that spilled his brother's blood
Inside the jaw's of [bad word] 
Where both his brother's fell
He just watched his faith in man die in the mud
There was no hero's [bad word] for The Drover
Just a country that had turned its back on him
When he came home from the war
His sick wife, they would not cure
They let her die, for the colour of his skin
So goes The Drover's story, you'll hear it near and far
And in the end it's all he'll ever own.
It says the outcast is a free man
If he sleeps under the stars
Makes the blanket of the southern skies his home
The Drover is a man of constant shadows
Haunted by his pain, his past and name
For every mile he rides
What he cannot hide,
Is the longing in his heart to love again
So goes The Drover's story, you'll hear it near and far
And in the end it's all he'll ever own.
It says the outcast is a free man
If he sleeps under the stars
Makes the blanket of the southern skies his home
Makes the blanket of the southern skies his home
His home.