The rivers are dry across the land and the farmers fields have turned to sand

'Cause the rain hasn't come for two years going on three

The topsoil's gone with the hot north wind, the crops won't grow and rust set in

And the cruel south wind of winter brought no relief



And the old men in the public bar talk of floods and droughts before

And as the night goes on the conversations die

But the battlers don't give up, it's written on their hands

And in their eye-eye-eye-eye-eyes, and the spirit of the land survives



And on Saturday night in the Royal Hotel, Hank the Dutchman plays guitar

He sings country and western favourites and requests

It used to be his second job, a bit of a laugh for a couple of bob

Now it's all he's got 'cause his crops all died from thirst



Then he spent his savings on cattle and sheep, he got some credit, got in too deep

But stock won't graze on pastures turned to salt

And then he tried to get work as a travelling man selling Rawleighs products from the back of his van

But the cockies all shop in town where things are cheap



And the old men in the public bar talk of floods and droughts before

And as the night goes on the conversations die

But the battlers don't give up, it's written on their hands

And in their eye-eye-eye-eye-eyes, and the spirit of the land survives



The school's all rundown, the roofs rusted and the paint's peelin'

The playground's just a dustbowl, not a spot of green

The kids still kick their footballs sending dust clouds to the sun

And it's good to know the drought can't spoil the fun



And in the cricketers lounge late at night where the cockies talk and the shearers fight

And their wives drink shandies 'cause they'll be dri