The flute like song of the olive backed oriole I fancy I hear
On the tall gums of Sherbrooke in the Spring of the year
The cockatoos call and the nesting birds sing
Oh to be in the Yarra Ranges in the prime of the Spring
Australia's greatest mimic the lyrebird on the higher ground
His beautiful music in the woodland resound
A bird that Nature writers and poets celebrate
The songs of his neighbour birds he imitate,
In October in Birdsland the hills overlooking the lakes look so green
Young water birds swimming with their parents seen
The song of the butcherbird melodious and clear
Such beauty to my heart remains ever near
And the flute of the magpie in the dead of the night
Can be heard in Selby Wood in the moonlight.
On the tall gums of Sherbrooke in the Spring of the year
The cockatoos call and the nesting birds sing
Oh to be in the Yarra Ranges in the prime of the Spring
Australia's greatest mimic the lyrebird on the higher ground
His beautiful music in the woodland resound
A bird that Nature writers and poets celebrate
The songs of his neighbour birds he imitate,
In October in Birdsland the hills overlooking the lakes look so green
Young water birds swimming with their parents seen
The song of the butcherbird melodious and clear
Such beauty to my heart remains ever near
And the flute of the magpie in the dead of the night
Can be heard in Selby Wood in the moonlight.