The grey shrike thrush is singing in the woodlot
His beautiful whistle so pleasant to hear
One who does rate as one of the finest songsters
Of south east Australia in the Spring of the year.
Once heard his whistle cannot be mistaken
His beautiful music floats out from the trees
A beautiful thing of great natural beauty
Carried along by the freshening breeze.
Grey and brown he does not look very pretty
Yet he has in him a beautiful song
One who likes to live at the borders of the woodland
And all through the Spring he whistles all day long.
The grey shrike thrush at verge of his border
Can be heard whistling on a wattle tree
His voice to many is one that's familiar
Not many songsters sing as good as he.
His beautiful whistle so pleasant to hear
One who does rate as one of the finest songsters
Of south east Australia in the Spring of the year.
Once heard his whistle cannot be mistaken
His beautiful music floats out from the trees
A beautiful thing of great natural beauty
Carried along by the freshening breeze.
Grey and brown he does not look very pretty
Yet he has in him a beautiful song
One who likes to live at the borders of the woodland
And all through the Spring he whistles all day long.
The grey shrike thrush at verge of his border
Can be heard whistling on a wattle tree
His voice to many is one that's familiar
Not many songsters sing as good as he.
