When I return to Koroit it must be in the Spring
When the paddocks are looking greener and the nesting wild-birds sing
The sun is shining bright today in the old Country Town
But the countryside around it is looking rather brown.
The magpie in the moonlight will pipe his flute like air
And the fruit trees in the gardens their pink blossoms will wear
And the blackbird and the grey shrike thrush will be whistling melodious and clear
When I return to Koroit in September of the year.
When I return to Koroit the sparrows will build their grass lined with feathers nest
Under house eaves or bushy small tree in a place that suits them best
And the weather will be pleasant a high of 25 degrees
And there will be a cooling freshness in the gentle coastal breeze.
The corellas will be brooding their eggs in their nest in hole of gum tree
And the Town Park will echo to the call of the pee wee
And the ground nesting spur winged plovers with aggression in their cry
Will be calling in the moonlight around their borders as they fly.
When I return to Koroit in September of the year
To that old Town in the flatlands many miles distant from here
The paddocks will look greener they are looking brown today
And the butcherbird will be piping in his cloak of brown and gray.
When the paddocks are looking greener and the nesting wild-birds sing
The sun is shining bright today in the old Country Town
But the countryside around it is looking rather brown.
The magpie in the moonlight will pipe his flute like air
And the fruit trees in the gardens their pink blossoms will wear
And the blackbird and the grey shrike thrush will be whistling melodious and clear
When I return to Koroit in September of the year.
When I return to Koroit the sparrows will build their grass lined with feathers nest
Under house eaves or bushy small tree in a place that suits them best
And the weather will be pleasant a high of 25 degrees
And there will be a cooling freshness in the gentle coastal breeze.
The corellas will be brooding their eggs in their nest in hole of gum tree
And the Town Park will echo to the call of the pee wee
And the ground nesting spur winged plovers with aggression in their cry
Will be calling in the moonlight around their borders as they fly.
When I return to Koroit in September of the year
To that old Town in the flatlands many miles distant from here
The paddocks will look greener they are looking brown today
And the butcherbird will be piping in his cloak of brown and gray.
