The Old Bloke From Colo Valley

He can hear the friarbirds calling in the parklands far away On the trees by Colo river at the dawning of the day And the lapwing o'er her breeding grounds utters forth her warning cry And the dark winged welcome swallows ever circling in the sky. By pub counter we sat listening as we drank our frothy ales To the old bloke from the valleys of south eastern New South Wales He has done his share of travelling since that mild October day When he left his parents cottage years ago and far away. With two brothers and two sisters he is the eldest of five And he was raised in the hard days when the weak did not survive And at seventeen with lust for wander like a bird he flew the nest And he boarded a bus to Sydney and from there he headed west He shore merinos in the outback far from the bright city lights And in rural towns he worked as a drainer and on city building sites And he's had his share of women 'for awhile he had a wife' And he has a daughter somewhere he's played no part in her life. The old bloke from Colo valley he's been there and he's done that And he's worked all around Australia from Darwin to Ballarat And he still can hear the friarbirds singing in the parklands far away On the trees by Colo river at the dawning of the day