When Cobb and Co ran coaches from the Buller to the Grey,
I went for a livery stable lad in a halt up Westport way.
I gave my heart to a red-haired girl and left it where she lay,
By the winding Westland highway from the Buller to the Grey.

I've got neatsfoot on my fingers and lampblack on my face,
I've saddle-soaped the harness and hung each piece in place.
But my heart's not in the stable, it's in Charleston far away,
As Cobb and Co go rolling by from Buller to the Grey.

There's a red-haired girl in Charleston and she's dancing in the bar,
But I know she's not like other girls who dance where miners are.
I can't forget her eyes and everything they seemed to say,
The day I rode with Cobb and Co from Buller to the Grey.

There's a schooner down from Murchison, I can hear it in the gorge,
I'll have to beat the bellows now and redden up the forge.
I'm going to strike that iron so hard, she'll hear it far away,
In the roaring European that the road runs by from Grey.

Someday I'll be a teamster with the ribbons in my fist,
And I'll drive a Cobb and Co express through rain and snow and mist.
Drive a four-in-hand to Charleston and no matter what they say,
I'll take my girl up on the box and marry her in Grey.

There's a graveyard down in Charleston where moss trails from the trees
And the Westland wind comes moaning in from off the Tasman Sea.
It's there they laid my red-haired girl in a pit of yellow clay,
As Cobb and Co went rolling by from the Buller to the Grey