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 traveling 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.