Sara Hobbs Connor

A long long way from England from her old stomping ground
The gipsy blood is in her she likes to get around
She has a son and husband by duty she is bound
But the place she'd like to live in perhaps she has not found.

She lives at Upper Gully but she'd like to live elsewhere
Perhaps in Northern New South Wales she says she likes it there
In Upper Ferntree Gully she would not like to grow old
Victoria's winter weather that little bit too cold.

Her bubbling English accent you notice right away
A woman like Sara Hobbs Connor you don't meet every day
She must have gipsy blood in her, her skin is gipsy brown
And she never goes un-noticed when she is in the town.

She tells this little story about her friend John Magee
The 'pooka' on his shoulder she says she often see
The leprechaun from Ireland that with the singer stay
And came with him across the world to places far away.

She sees on Johnny's shoulder a fellow green and small
She has imagination the greatest gift of all
She sees what I could never see I feel I must be blind
I envy Sara her great gifts not many of her kind.

Just like a gipsy goddess her hair blowing in the breeze
She hear the fairies fluting on the acacia trees
She sees what others cannot see the elves and fairies small
And she has imagination the greatest gift of all.