If around September you want something to remember
Pack your grips and take a trip up Gascoyne way.
If your fifty five or twenty you'll get entertainment plenty
You'll remember it untill your dying day.
For each sheep and cattle station there's a mass evacuation
They come from every outpost near and far
From the main roads to the chasers they're a-going to the races
It's the biggest thing that happens in a year.
Staunch Nor"Westers by the dozen start the good old Junction buzzin'
And the pub stays open morning, noon and nights
Where the blokes from near and far swap their yarns around the bar
And settle little differences with a fight.
Then they grab their bags and swags and sleep under the nearest jeep
And get up in the morning feeling fine
So the spend the day at Two-Up and around the bar they queue up
To celebrate their wins with beer and wine.
And at "The Races" and a sea of eager faces
Lines up the rough bush track they proudly call "The Course"
And the station hands are tense as they lean upon the fence
With thei earnings of twelve months bet on a horse.
For a week or so before, A forgotten thing is law
And merry hell is order of the day
To the lonely little junction this year racing function
Is the biggest thing that ever came it's way.
And when the fun is over and the car and jeep and rover
are swallowed in swirling clouds of dust
It's certain you'll remember how about September
The Gascoyne Junction Races are a must.
Swampy
Just kidding.
