The Measure Of A Man CD, MP3 Album & Individual songs Available

Paradise

Words and music by Colin Buchanan © 1994 UNIVERSAL MUSIC (AUST.)

It was a long drive over 200 k's of dirt
We watched the country change from slopes to plains
Stands of yellowbox
Turned to Mallee green and grey
And her beauty kept unfolding that day

Chorus
She is cruel
She is tender
She'll leave you open-mouthed in wonder
One day paradise, another hell
You can fall in love
And never know her well

Some have come here
Falling for her charms
Not knowing, or ignoring what's at stake
Falling victims, to her powerful expanse
Defeated by a fleeting romance

Chorus

And we rolled on
Through little outback towns
Clinging to her hard and dusty ground
Never far from memorials that prove
At best we're only ever passing through

Chorus

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Chook

Words & Music by Colin Buchanan © 1994 Rondor Music (Aust.)

Caught the train to Cootamundra
Headed over to the waiting bus
Twenty minutes to stretch the legs
When this bloke rides up to us &
Twelve speed pushbike, kung-fu jacket
The kiosk girl said, "Here comes Chook.

CHORUS
You can see him 'round Coota on the old pushbike
With the B-double trailers and the CB mike!
The locals grin and look and say
"Here comes Chook”

I wandered up, made his acquaintance
He pushed his glasses up on his nose
He kicked the tyres on his six-wheeled pushbike
And rubbed his aching toes!
"Got a flat. Flamin' catheads."
He pulled a shifter from a box.

CHORUS
While Chook was busy I got a coffee
Asked the bussies to fill me in
Jethro from the big white coach
Gave a crooked grin,
"Chook meets the busses.
Picks up rubbish
Does Tae Kwon Do on the station lawn."

CHORUS

Time was up, my bus was going
Chook said he was running late
As we pulled out Chook was chatting
On truckies' channel eight
Cootamundra
Bradman's Birthplace
Wattle Town and Home of Chook

CHORUS

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Birdsville Races

Words and music by Colin Buchanan © 1994 UNIVERSAL MUSIC (AUST.)

Now folk's will tell you Birdsville is a little town
You'd miss it if you blink
But I took a trip out that way
And it's not the sort of town
Most people think .

They told me just a hundred people
Make this little town their humble home
But as I came in from Bedourie
I found I most certainly was not alone

They're 30 deep in the street
By the pub in the scrub
A sea of sozzled faces
Pack your bag, hump your swag
Out the back, down the track
To the Birdsville Races!

Now I've seen them race at Randwick
Where admittedly the track is somewhat greener
But dirt and dust fit the bill quite nicely
Out there by the Diamantina

The bookies do a roaring trade
And even me, an out-and-out beginner
Put 2 bucks each way on Loquacity
Who thundered home a winner .…

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Thinking of You

Words & Music by Colin Buchanan © 1994 Rondor Music (Aust.)

The rain drifted onto the range from the west
The town took a shower that settled the dust
And the last of the sun was just breaking through
When I started thinking of you
The Tenterfield takeaway hung with the smoke
The takeaway lady didn’t laugh at my joke
And when I couldn’t hold hands and give thanks like we do
I started thinking of you

CHORUS
We’ll keep telling ourselves
It’s just a few days
You’ll care for the children
I’ll drive through the haze
Wishing you knew
Every time I was thinking of you

We turned off the dirt out near Mount Kapular
Ate Bingara rolls in the shade by the car
We soaked in the creek
And as I took in the view
I started thinking of you

CHORUS

We got out by the Namoi
Where cotton is grown
I wanted to hear
Your voice on the phone
And as I hung up
A truck rumbled through
And I started thinking of you

CHORUS

Wishing you knew
Every time I was thinking
I was thinking of you

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The Measure of a Man

Words and music by Colin Buchanan © 1994 UNIVERSAL MUSIC (AUST.)

The autumn sun
Warmed the sand
Of the river running dry
And around the gums
Dads and mums
Lay with dogs
Under open skies
And let the days slip by ...

Chorus
The measure of a man isn't found
In the dollars in his pocket
Or in where he lives in town
It's what lies deep within
Past the colour of his skin
When we look there we begin to understand`
The measure of a man

They gave this land
This bed of sand
To the ones who now reside
But can rocks and earth
Restore their worth?
Their hope? Their lives? Their pride?
So many broken years have slipped by ...

Chorus

I've heard the tales
They say are there true
Of the waste and the abuse
As I live my life
With my kids, my wife
In a world just so removed
Who can resolve the two?

Chorus

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The Wanaaring Road

Words & Music by Colin Buchanan © 1994 Rondor Music (Aust.)

If you head west beyond the Darling
Near the corner country of New South Wales
You’ll know you’ve struck the real Australia
When you hit the Wanaaring Road
There’s roos and pigs by the dozen
And every night they lie and wait
They’ll gladly cause some extra damage
Compliments of the Wanaaring Road

CHORUS
If you head west beyond the Darling
Near the corner country of New South Wales
You’ll know you’ve struck the real Australia
When your wheels hit the Wanaaring Road

Old Bob McLeod’s been driving road trains
From dusty stations all out that way
He’s got bad teeth cause all his fillings
Have rattled loose on the Wanaaring Road

CHORUS

A Wanaaring lass named Nanny Blacker
Was ten months gone when labour came
The boy was born in the family Falcon
Delivered by the Wanaaring Road

CHORUS

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Out West of the Mighty Darling

Words & Music by Colin Buchanan © 1994 Rondor Music (Aust.)

Out west of the mighty Darling
Where the big bomboras blow
And turn daylight to the black of night
In half an hour or so
And you race for the nearest shelter
From dust like rusty snow
Out west of the mighty Daring
Where the big bomboras blow

It’s wild wild cattle country
Nomad camels range its plains
The wild untamed descendents
Of the Afghan camel trains
And you see the wedge-tailed eagle soar
As it hunts in the sunset’s glow
Out west of the mighty Darling
Where the big bomboras blow

Out west of the mighty Darling
Where the big bomboras blow
And the sunset’s red like the furnace bed
Of the hobs of Hell below
And the lonely Paroo wanders
With no banks to guide its flow
Out west of the mighty Darling
Where the big bomboras blow

It’s barren clay-pan country
Of salt-bush and bindi-eye
Of twisted, tortured ti-tree
And a leaden, burning sky
But if you ever leave it
You’ll find you want to go
Back west of the mighty Darling
Where the big bomboras blow

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At Kaluah

Words & Music by Colin Buchanan © 1994 Rondor Music (Aust.)

It grew darker at Kalulah
I could see the rain on Flat Rock
Biggest storm in such a long time
Birds were flying to their nests

When the wind hit
There was thunder
Sheets of water on the paddocks
Little torrents
Rushing downwards
Lightning struck not far away

Bridge
And when the storm had rolled on through
Somehow everything seemed clean and new

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The Town Is Getting Smaller Every Year

Words & Music by Colin Buchanan © 1994 Rondor Music (Aust.)

There were young folk
In the church hall
In the old days
They packed them in
There was laughter
There was singing
It’s a different story now

CHORUS
It’s just a little town
Getting smaller every year
Let the years slip quickly by
And then wave your kids goodbye
Off to make a life away from here
This town is getting smaller every year

Have your children, give them schooling
Give them friendship give them love
Finish high school hold them tightly
Shed a tear and let them go

CHORUS

Head to uni
Go to college
Get employment
Get a trade
Meet a partner
Start a family
Only back on holidays

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Brophy’s Boxing Troupe

Words & Music by Colin Buchanan © 1994 Rondor Music (Aust.)

Have you heard the beat of Brophy's drum?
Have you heeded Brophy's call?
When Fred's lads pitch the Boxing Tent and take on one and all
Have you cheered the local challengers
And joined the crushing throng?
To see who'll last the distance as Mandingo rings the gong

There's a string of bare bulbs hanging
Between two splintered poles
The rings a tarp laid on the dirt, the tent is full of holes
But not a souls complaining and there's one almighty din
When Brophy blows the whistle and cries "Let the fight begin!"

CHORUS

Put the gloves on! Any comers?
Brophy’s Boxing tents in town
Come and job the Birdsville Mauler
Or knock Gentle Jim around
Have a bout with old Mandingo
Watch them duck and jab and swoop
Put the gloves on! Any comers!
It's Brophy's Boxing Troupe!

The first of the contenders donned the gloves and took his guard
While Lightning came out swinging and the local took it hard
Although he was a trier, he was lacking in technique
Ane was finished with a right
That knocked him clear into next week

Then in fairly quick succession 3 more locals took the dive
Till a solid bloke called Rory brought the seething crowd alive
He punished Kid Goanna with a repetiore diverse
And the crowd went into orbit
When Rory took the purse

CHORUS

Peter said he was from Pentridge
He said "I've got nought to lose!"
He was 90 miles from sober and had numerous tattoos
He started with some promise, but lost the plot from there
And he finished bruised and bloody, looking somewhat worse from wear

The undisputed wooden spooner, the tamest of all foes
Was the scrawny bloke from Melbourne with the long protruding nose
1/2 a round with Afro Savage and he knew that he was beat
And I doubt that Afro's ever seen a speedier retreat

CHORUS

Next morning Fred was pretty dark
"Some yobbo's flogged me drum!"
The lads were somewhat ragged from an evening on the rum
But Brophy's boys and family struck camp and stowed the gear
Leaving bruised and battered locals hoping
They'll be back next year

CHORUS

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By the Barwon

Words & Music by Colin Buchanan © 1994 Rondor Music (Aust.)

It was a week of weather over 40.
The dogs were panting in the peppercorn shade &
The heat was roasting the little town
By the Barwon

They'd had enough of the concrete footpath
Had enough of the takeaway &
Must have been a dozen in that Falcon
Heading down to the Barwon

CHORUS
Could've gone to the local pool
But it's not as brown it's not as cool
Yellowbelly, rivergums
Maybe a cousin or two ...
By the Barwon

There's been stories told around a roaring fire
Lovers held under a million stars
And a lot of empty bottles have been cast adrift
In the Barwon.

CHORUS

It was a week of weather over 40
The dogs were panting in the pepercorn shade &
The heat was roasting the little town
By the Barwon
They've been coming here for so many
Before the bridge and the town and the bottles of beer
And when the next flood passes they'll all be back
In the Barwon.

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Ray’s Taxi

Words & Music by Colin Buchanan © 1994 Rondor Music (Aust.)

Ray’s taxi is a HJ Holden with a plastic bucket on the top
There’s a bald tyre
Shimmy in the steering
You have to pump the brakes just to stop
He parks at the rank
Reading the form guide
Pick a winner on the tote
It’s Ray’s taxi and Ray’s ready to go

Ray’s never joined the local co-op
He’s a cowboy cabby on his own
The 2 way crackles
It’s the boss Beryl on the base-station back home
Stop your children chattin’ Ray
Make is a pick-up Ray
Ray your dinner’s getting. Cold
It’s Ray’s taxi
But Ray does as he’s told

CHORUS
Into town, out of town
Cruising up and down Byron Street
It’s the man with the hat
And the cab that everyone knows
It’s Ray’s taxi and Ray’s ready to go

Ray’s always got the juiciest gossip
And you’ll always get his point of view
On the funny weather or on last nights footy
And he’ll tell you what they ought to do
Spice it up a bit
Keep the meter ticking
Take them home the long way
It’s Ray’s taxi and Ray’s doing OK

CHORUS

Ray tracks the HL Holden
For a Falcon built in 84
It’s a smart new color
He got new seat covers
He screwed a new sign on the door
But Ray’s in the TAB
Beryl’s on the 2-qay
Cursing and calling out his name
It’s Ray’s new taxi but Ray’s still the same

CHORUS

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Here One Moment

Words & Music by Colin Buchanan © 1994 Rondor Music (Aust.)

I love this house
I built this house
We raised our children here
The walls have shared the tumult
In the passing of the years
But we lost it all last Saturday
In the crackle and the roar
Our home consumed
Escaping
All we had was what we wore

CHORUS
Our little street
The blackened wrecks
Here one moment
Gone the next
Our little house
There's nothing left
Here one moment
Gone the next

No policy or insurance deal
Could properly replace
The memories and love
That we had tied up in this place
The markings on the door frame
All we’ve done and all we’ve know
It takes months to build a house
It takes a life to build a home

CHORUS

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Heroes of the Flames

Words & Music by Colin Buchanan © 1994 Rondor Music (Aust.)

The bush was like a tinder-box
From a summer free of rain
The unrelenting westerlies
Quickly fanned the flames
And with every passing hour
The flames were burning higher
Thousands faced destruction
At the mercy of the fire

CHORUS
The burning walls of fury
Were only matched by the resolve
Of the fathers and the mothers
Of the daughters and the brothers
Saving strangers who would never know their names
They are the heroes of the flames

In the bush and in the suburbs
We watched the tragedy unfold
For every tale of courage
A thousand went untold
Battered and exhausted
Caked in dirt and sweat
Relentless in the battle
Saving others from the threat

CHORUS

BRIDGE
There are some who stand no longer
Who paid the highest cost
We salute them
And we mourn their loss

CHORUS

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No Place like Home

Words & Music by Colin Buchanan © 1994 Rondor Music (Aust.)

The moon lit the mountains bathed them in light
The patchwork of paddocks spread forth in the night
And whatever it was that had drawn him away
Was forgotten, was gone

CHORUS
They say there's no place like this place
The very same track will always lead back
To a place where you're known
Perhaps she was right when she said
There's no place like home

It's funny how little things serve to remind
How deep run the feelings for what's left behind
The signs, the fences, the haysheds, the dams
There to welcome, to greet

CHORUS

The silos stood quiet, the main street was dark
The courthouse, the gate and the gun in the park
The copper just cruising, the sawmill, the tip
He'd returned, he was home

CHORUS

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