Now I'm a bullock driver and I work for Mazlin's Mill
And pulling timber from Vine Creek I've nearly had my fill
And when the rain it comes at last, the roads they are like glue
It's dig her out, or double-bank to find the balance due

The cutters are no better off, at us they cannot grin
For when they get their timber cut they cannot get it in
And my advice to you my boys, please do not take it ill
Far better turn your bullocks out than work for Mazlin's Mill