Though it is now near the mid Autumn
And many long weeks from the Spring
As shades of night creep o'er the Suburbs
How sweetly the white backed magpie sing.
He is not singing out of Season
Since magpies sing all through the year
His flute like voice cannot be mistaken
It is such a pleasant thing to hear.
The black and white Australian magpie
Surely a feathered Prince of song
Once heard he cannot be mistaken
His voice you never could get wrong.
A song so beautiful and flute like
As night and day begin to meet
By the quiet park in a quiet Suburb
His music echoes down the Street.
This simple piece is for the magpie
Who pipes on an acacia tree
One of Australia's finest feathered songsters
And few are as well known as he.
And many long weeks from the Spring
As shades of night creep o'er the Suburbs
How sweetly the white backed magpie sing.
He is not singing out of Season
Since magpies sing all through the year
His flute like voice cannot be mistaken
It is such a pleasant thing to hear.
The black and white Australian magpie
Surely a feathered Prince of song
Once heard he cannot be mistaken
His voice you never could get wrong.
A song so beautiful and flute like
As night and day begin to meet
By the quiet park in a quiet Suburb
His music echoes down the Street.
This simple piece is for the magpie
Who pipes on an acacia tree
One of Australia's finest feathered songsters
And few are as well known as he.
