Just a Lyric writer
Hi I'm Noel and I write poetry, ballads, and lyrics. The songs here are collaborations I've taken part in. I mostly either only write the lyric or collaborate on the lyric but occasionally I will do a melody too.
If you are interested in using any of the songs here, please feel free to contact me.
I am also looking for songwriters who are interested in my kind of lyrics to collaborate with.
Story behind the song
It's a memory of a dog I knew
Lyrics
Tipper
I guess I would have been about six at the time, when my Dad brought home this little mutt,
Said he’d need a hand til I was growed, so he’d got himself a Blue Heeler pup.
We ran cattle on our place and that dog soon became like his right arm,
And there are just so many stories I could tell, about Tipper and my Pa,
When I left school went working for dad, more dogs came as the need grew,
And for training them and keeping ‘em in line, old Tipper was head of the crew,
For looking after and moving cattle, Tipper was always there,
But he was getting older and slowing down some, and needing a little more care.
Now my Dad’s not mean but he was brought up hard, so he’s not the emotional kind.
And he kept saying we should put Tipper down, cause his worth had run its time,
Tipper was looking rough and he limped a lot, and he was definitely losing his sight,
And he trailed behind while we were doing the rounds, So I was thinking that dad might be right.
Till that summer when it was hellishly hot, we were tagging and prep’n cattle for sales,
Dad with the dogs worked all the yards, while I worked the crush tagging tails
It was late in the arvo even the dogs were tired, we were all looking forward to going home
When Dad got cornered by the Hereford bull, up against the six bar with no place to go,
Now there are times when bulls turn mean, for no reason they just seem to go mad,
And that day that bull had death in his eyes, and he was looking straight at my dad.
Suddenly there was a flash and a snarl and a snap, and Tipper was there bitting at its heels
An I tell you that bull swung around after the dog, giving Dad a chance to clear the rails,
But like I said that dog was old, he’d gotten slow at dodging hoof and horn.
That old Hereford was on him like a threshing machine, and when he was done Tipper was gone.
There weren’t nothing either of us could do and for the rest of the day I was on my own,
Dad just nursed Tipper’s lifeless remains, til we finally arrived back home.
We buried Tipper under his favourite tree, it was the first time I had seen the old man cry,
Every now and then I‘ll see dad standing there at the grave, and there’s always a tear in his eye
