We stoned the flamin’ crows at Wagga,
Caught the colt from Old Regret at Corryong,
Then we said goodbye to southern states
And rounded up our Solo mates to form a tag-along.
Each night we stopped for food and wine at our happy hour
And looked around for showers to ease our driving pain.
We got our marching orders from our fearless leader John
And if we didn’t understand, we got them all again.
We stayed in quiet paddocks, red with swirling dust
And soaked in mineral waters hot and black.
We tuned our creative skills at Pilliga Pottery camp
And over-catered to the max in an organised pot-luck.
We gathered round a campfire in a friendly farmer’s yard
With spuds in the coals and marshmallows in the fire
Then we lined the streets with others at Colleranabri
And honoured our Anzacs in truly country style
At Lightning Ridge we settled in, eighty vans or so –
Brekky in our ‘jamas, bowling barefoot at the club,
In chartered bus or on our own, we explored the town,
The opal fields, car door tours and the pub out in the
scrub.
Some joined the groups and some dropped off
As we reached the Sunshine State.
There was Music in the Mulga or a trek along the gorge,
Different groups and leaders, different routes, different
rates.
Then all our groups converged again
We camped a week near Miriam Vale
With visitors and workshops and an endless burning fire,
Sing-alongs with Gary and many a far-fetched tale.
So now we’ll gather up our cards and games
We’ll miss the laughter, dances and song.
We’ll hit the road tomorrow after one last night of fun,
Better friends than ever thanks to this tag-along.
