Windy Mick And The Falcon He’d seen enough of the Nightcliffe
He’d had enough of his friends
If he didn’t get out of Darwin
The grog’d do him in
So staggerin’ home from another show
He falls down in someone’s yard - no problem it’s happened before
At least the dog's tied up

When he sees before him all neat and clean
An XB Falcon ute, V8 four speed,
Roo bar, spotties, brand new boots, CB, stereo
Well all you want really if you have a look
Keys in the ignition
Never had a second thought, rolled her out of the drive
Crescent moon looked in on him from away up in the sky
She starts first kick, and up the street the you-beaut’s idlin’ sweet
And he’s sneakin’ out a town now away from the Timor sea

A bogey in the Katherine river, a pie and sauce at Mataranka
He camps in the scrub till he’s feelin’ better- waitin’ for the day to end
He’ll be sober and right to drive all night
When all good caravans are in bed.

And when he drove, he drove alone right up to the dawn
Just him and all the interstate truckies
With their CB crackle talk, he says;

"You got a copy there southbound? - I’m in the Falcon comin’ past"
"Yeah mate"
"Come from Darwin - got away from the grog at last"
"Well you never had enough" they said n’ that’s how they get their laughs.

But he just overtakes them all, puts their circus lights behind
Till it’s just him, the moon and the Falcon
Under a thousand miles of sky
Sweepin’ over flood plains with an eye out for a bullock
Along the side of rivers where insects hit the screen
And when that crescent moon again dips low towards the ground
Mick gives a little shiver
But the Falcon’s runnin’ well

Shifting gears out of Elliott the country it peels back
Shedding trees all the way down south along the track
At daybreak the sky it opens - he’s back in the desert again
The tug of a range further out, his right arm gettin’ red
The windows open wide and the wind is in his hair
He smells every desert fragrance, feels every dreamtime lair
The familiar landscape burstin’ forth, the memories alive
Of all the old time camps stretched out under starlit nights
A hundred campfires lit and died with a girl in his arms he held
But he puts it all behind him now cause the Falcon’s runnin’ well

He smelt a beer at Ti-Tree so he pulls in for a charge
Grabs a carton for the road, spins the wheels in a cloud of dust
The MacDonnell Ranges crack the sky same time the sun goes down
Alice Springs is up ahead he knows it’s not far now
And the stereo is wound right up - some old country tune
Micks laughin’ and singin’ along he don’t worry about the moon
He don’t worry about any cops that might be lookin’ for him too
He lets the Falcon have its head and guzzles on a can
"No bastard’ll stop me now" he says "the Falcon’s runnin’ well"

Maybe some old roo leans back on his tail
And sees the headlights comin’ fast and tail lights disappearin’
Off the road out in the scrub it over shot a turn
And in a single bound the Falcon leaps and takes off in the air

Mick looks out and shits himself to see he’s left the ground
"Jesus Christ I must’ve died, help me if you can!"
He pulls his head in and checks the gauges, tries the taps for sound
The earth falls back behind him
But by geez the Falcon’s runnin’ well

Over the great salt pan basins far above the gibber plains
Where dusty men scratch holes in the ground
And end up sad and dazed
On and on and on by night
Till it seems that the earth just turns
Mick keeps his seatbelt fastened tight
And steers toward the moon

Far below he spies the lights of a road train crawlin’ slow
"Geez mate have ya got a copy I’m not sure where I am?"
And in the cab below the driver hears the desperate man
"You got a copy there mate, I’m above ya in the sky!"
"Well tell that airliner to dip his lights" says the disbelieving driver

Windy Mick came back to earth on the good side of Port Augusta
The Falcon hit the road again on it’s shock absorbers
"Thank you God for that" Mick says "me drinkin’ days are over"
And he whips the ute through Horrocks pass and onto the Barrier Highway
And guns it for the rabbits all the way through Broken Hill
Puttoh, puttoh, their heads they hit the Falcon runnin’ well
Dodgin’ roos and sheep through Wilcannia onto Cobar
Pointin’ east to Nyngan, where the farms and fences start
In Narromine or Dubbo there’s nowhere to toss a swag
So Mick plants it through to Orange and the miles they just fell
From Bathurst to Katoomba you know the Falcon’s runnin’ well

Up and over the great divide and there at last it spreads below
The great old Sydney urban sprawl, snoozing in a smog of grey pink dawn
Pacific Ocean lappin’ at her shores, jets cruisin’ in with tourists galore
You might well wonder what Mick came here for

Well he drove around for an hour or two and couldn’t find a park
So he hung a Uey in George Street and was back on the plains by dark
And the drinkers in the pubs en route
This is what they tell,
How can you put it all behind ya,
With a Falcon, runnin’ well.

(From Neil's book One Man Tribe)