I can hear the druming rain drops on the roof above my head,
And I hear the calling wind that's soft and low,
And the rustlingof the ghost gums as they beckon to its will,
And makes me wonder where the daytime creatures go.
A brand new tune is born in an empty plum jam tin
That I placed beside my bed to catch a leak,
And the postman he won't make it while the weather hold like this,
No he'll never make it through the ten mile creek.
I've got a three day curry that's warming on the stove.
It'll help me keep the rain and dampness out.
And I'll wash it down with brandy which I saved for times like this,
Well the truth is, it's really kept for gout.
So bushmen know the pleasures that town folk never know.
Oh I'd like you Mr Banjo to be here upon my show.
Would you let me swap your boots for mine and tell my life in verse,
Or would you weigh my pittence, mate, against your well stuffed purse ?
Let's call it quits old Banjo. Let's quit while we're ahead.
You stay with pen and paper and I'll stay here in bed.
And we'll count ourselves both lucky to escape the bustling push;
For the pleasures of the City are not pleasures of the bush.
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