When Cobb & Co. ran coaches from the Buller to the Grey I went for a livery-stable lad in a halt up Westport way, And 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. There's Neatsfoot on my fingers, and lamp-black on my face, And 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, Where Cobb & Co. goes rolling by from the 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, And I can't forget her eyes, and everything they seemed to say The day I rode with Cobb & Co. from the Buller to the Grey. There's a schooner down from Murchison, I can hear it in the gorge, So I'll have to pump the bellows now and redden up the forge, And I'll strike that iron so very hard she'll hear it far away In the roaring European that the road runs by from Grey. Some day I'll be teamster with the ribbons in my fist, And I'll drive that Cobb & 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 the moss trails from the trees, And the Westland wind comes moaning in from off the Tassman Seas, And it's there they laid my red-haired girl, in a pit of yellow clay As Cobb & Co. went rolling by from the Buller to the Grey.