The Rose Of Macarthur

Her shoulder length hair is the colour of washed shining gold
The Rose of Macarthur lovely to behold
And brown as the ripe chestnut are her eyes of brown
The number one  beauty of her country Town
The Rose of Macarthur is only eighteen
And her better days in life she has not yet seen
But perhaps in Macarthur she's one who will not stay
She talks of the big towns from home far away
The Rose of Macarthur on her side she has time
She is at least a decade from the height of her prime
Not much in Macarthur for to keep her there
The Pride of the Town her future is elsewhere
A stranger to conceit and a stranger to guile
A lovely country town girl with sunshine in her smile.