Suppose rural born and raised Australians who from Australia live far away
Do think of their home countryside every day
Nostalgia in the mind does not die easily
With that I'm sure many migrants would agree.
In their flights of fancy I bet they do hear
The butcherbird flute in the Spring of the year
And on a tall gum the magpie is in song
To warn others this patch to me does belong.
Though happy enough in a far foreign town
They miss their home landscape the paddocks of brown
The laughter of the kookaburra the cough of the roo
And the loud and harsh squawkings of the white cockatoo.
They tell their children stories of that Land far away
And of the place where they first looked on the lamp of day
And the children of the Aussie migrants the young girl and boy
The stories that their mum and dad tell them of their Homeland enjoy
Do think of their home countryside every day
Nostalgia in the mind does not die easily
With that I'm sure many migrants would agree.
In their flights of fancy I bet they do hear
The butcherbird flute in the Spring of the year
And on a tall gum the magpie is in song
To warn others this patch to me does belong.
Though happy enough in a far foreign town
They miss their home landscape the paddocks of brown
The laughter of the kookaburra the cough of the roo
And the loud and harsh squawkings of the white cockatoo.
They tell their children stories of that Land far away
And of the place where they first looked on the lamp of day
And the children of the Aussie migrants the young girl and boy
The stories that their mum and dad tell them of their Homeland enjoy
