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When Her Ship Comes Sailing In

de David Sinclair

It's an unexplained devotion,
That makes you climb behind the wheel.
And guide 40 tons of missile,
From the coast to Camooweal.
It's the feel of turbo muscle,
That gets into your bones.
It's the romance of the long haul,
Bein' out there on your own.

We are Sons of the Road,
Like brothers we are bound.
To the rhythm of the highway,
An' a rumblin diesel sound.
And down that long white line,
Together we will roll.
We stand united,
Sons of the Road.

There's a long tradition
From the days when the bullock teams
Would haul loads across the outback,
'Cross flats and steep ravines.
We carry on the journey,
Of those pioneers gone by.
With 22 wheels on bitumen,
And 25 tons behind .

We are Sons of the Road,
Like brothers we are bound.

To the rhythm of the highway,
An' a rumblin diesel sound.
And down that long white line,
Together we will roll.
We stand united,
Sons of the Road.

It's stoppin' at the roadhouse,
For a coffee, fuel and chat.
And tippin' off your mates,
'bout a radar 10 miles back.
Well it's stakin' out the blockade,
When they try to move you on.
And you're backed into a corner,
Gets emotions running strong.

We are Sons of the Road,
Like brothers we are bound.
To the rhythm of the highway,
An' a rumblin diesel sound.
And down that long white line,
Together we will roll.
We stand united,
Sons of the Road.
We stand united,
Sons of the Road.

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