Текст песни Straight Ahead - Slim Dusty

Dave and I were travellin' through the top end,
November and the sun was pretty hot.
We were somewhere on the road that lead to Cooktown.
At a not too busy, quiet, petrol stop.

An old man was working at the bowser.
He was brown and black from years out in the sun.
A bent up cigarette hung from his bottom lip,
And his eyes still held a twinkle left for fun.

We filled our water tanks and got our diesel,
And was getting set to roll or just about.
When a fancy kind of four wheel hit the driveway.
And a pale faced southern tourist tumbled out.

The old man looked him over, said nothing.
Just filled his tanks and moved quietly, not fast.
The flies were getting sticky and so friendly.
That we wondered if the wet was gonna start.

The stranger asked about the road conditions.
I remember well just what the old man said.
"How many miles to Cooktown?" asked the stranger.
"Not miles, mate," said the old man, "straight ahead".

And you realize the power of mother nature.
When you're just a tiny speck out on the plain.
Land and sky where the road goes on forever,
And you'd swear this land had never tasted rain.

You hope to hell you wont have any trouble.
A breakdown in this place could hold you up.
Then a mighty road train looms and you pull over,
Busted tyre and rim there on the spot.

Oh, You curse the heat and flies and change the tyre,
But you smile a bit and laugh inside your head.
"How many miles to Cooktown?" asked the stranger,
"Not miles, ey," said the old man, "straight ahead".

And I guess that just about sums up life's highway,
That ever-changing path that we all must tread.
"How many miles to Cooktown?" asked the stranger,
"Not miles, mate," said the old man, "straight ahead".