In the heart of nature's splendour, where the ancient trees stand tall,
Lies a tale of wild creatures, and the wisdom they recall.
In the Budongo Forest shadows, where the chimpanzees roam free,
They seek the healing power, in the flora of the trees.

Oh, the wisdom of the wild, in the forests deep and green,
Where the chimpanzees are healers, with the knowledge yet unseen.
They teach us ancient secrets, in the medicines they find,
In the dance of nature's balance, there's a lesson for mankind.

They nibble on the leaves and bark, of trees and ferns unknown,
With a purpose and intention, their remedies are shown.
For wounds and infections, they know which plants to chew,
Their instincts are a guide, to the healing they pursue.

From the dead wood of Alstonia, to the fern leaves they consume,
Each plant a hidden doctor, in the forest's living room.
With anti-inflammatory power, and antibiotics strong,
The chimpanzees remind us, we've known this all along.

In the face of modern challenges, with diseases on the rise,
We turn to ancient forests, and the wisdom they comprise.
To the guardians of the green, and their medicinal lore,
The wild holds the answers, we've been searching for.

So let's protect these forests, and the secrets that they keep,
For in the heart of nature, lies the wisdom, pure and deep.
The chimpanzees are teachers, of a knowledge old and grand,
In their healing ways, they offer hope to every land.

I'm travellin' down the Castlereagh, and I'm a station hand,
I'm handy with the ropin' pole, I'm handy with the brand,
And I can ride a rowdy colt, or swing the axe all day,
But there's no demand for a station hand along the Castlereagh.

So it's shift, boys, shift, for there isn't the slightest doubt
That we've got to make a shift to the stations further out
With the packhorse runnin' after, for he follows like a dog,
We must strike across the country at the old jig-jog.

This old black horse I'm riding — if you'll notice what's his brand,
He wears the crooked R, you see — none better in the land.
He takes a lot of beatin', and the other day we tried,
For a bit of a joke, with a racing bloke, for twenty pounds aside.

It was shift, boys, shift, for there wasn't the slightest doubt,
That I had to make him shift, for the money was nearly out;
But he cantered home a winner, with the other one at the flog —
He's a red-hot sort of pick up with his old jig-jog.

I asked a cove for shearin' once along the Marthaguy:
'We shear non-union, here,' says he. 'I call it scab,' says I.
I looked along the shearin' floor before I turned to go —
There were eight or ten dashed Chinamen a-shearin' in a row.

It was shift, boys, shift, for there wasn't the slightest doubt
It was time to make a shift with the leprosy about.
So I saddled up my horses, and I whistled to my dog,
And I left his scabby station at the old jig-jog.

I went to Illawarra where my brother's got a farm,
He has to ask his landlord's leave before he lifts his arm;
The landlord owns the countryside — man, woman, dog, and cat,
They haven't the cheek to dare to speak without they touch their hat.

It was shift, boys, shift, for there wasn't the slightest doubt
Their little landlord god and I would soon have fallen out;
Was I to touch my hat to him? — was I his bloomin' dog?
So I makes for up the country at the old jig-jog.

But it's time that I was movin', I've a mighty way to go
Till I drink artesian water from a thousand feet below;
Till I meet the overlanders with the cattle comin' down,
And I'll work a while till I make a pile, then have a spree in town.

So, it's shift, boys, shift, for there isn't the slightest doubt
We've got to make a shift to the stations further out;
The packhorse runs behind us, for he follows like a dog,
And we cross a lot of country at the old jig-jog.