I see him still ole Dribbler Bill, his frame as hard as gidgee
He drove the mail on Bridal Tracks in country soft & rigid
Never had too much to say but when he did was just a drawl
And ya' kinda got the feelin', he'd be handy in a brawl
His Leyland truck was like ole Bill, gusty, rough and slow
He took that truck through country where a dozer wouldn't go
Yeah, but he's been bogged down tyre deep, back in Coober Hole
When others turned their trucks around and headed back for home
Now old Bill would do those little things for bush folk far from town
Had a memory like Sir Sydney, never wrote the items down
Newspapers he would put inside, mailbox on the ridge
And every stop along the way, had somethin' for the kids
He was seen to be a lonely man like one deprived of luck
An outward sign did only make was that old Leyland truck
He'd caress that smooth ole steerin' wheel, ease along the track
The last words that I heard him say was, "See ya later Jack."
Instrumental
Now the mail still serves the far outback, the jobs they handle fine
But mem'ries dwell on Dribbler Bill way back in '39
I remember every mail night, the excitement and the thrill
As we sat outside and waited for the likes of Dribbler Bill
Oh, there's many times he helped us out when tucker got real slack
Like fresh meat from the bullocks secured from somewhere up the track
Yeah, great old man was Dribbler Bill the kind who'd always stick
And he'd risk his life without a thought for the needy and the sick. Hey!
Now I'd like to think that Dribbler Bill still has the wheel in hand
Pushin' that old Leyland truck throughout that channel land
Should there be no trucks in heaven, it's a halo to a pup
Just give old Bill a day or two and he'll start a mail run up
Spoken Yeah so long Bill