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Well it's hotter 'n blazes and all the long faces |
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there'll be no oasis for a dry local grazier |
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there'll be no refreshment for a thirsty jackaroo |
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from Melbourne to Adelaide on the overlander |
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with newfangled buffet cars and faster locomotives |
|
the train stopped in Serviceton less and less often |
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There's nothing sadder than a town with no cheer |
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Voc Rail decided the canteen was no longer necessary there |
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no spirits, no bilgewater and 80 dry locals |
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and the high noon sun beats a hundred and four |
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there's a hummingbird trapped in a closed down shoe store |
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This tiny Victorian rhubarb |
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kept the watering hole open for sixty five years |
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now it's boilin' in a miserable March 21 st |
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wrapped the hills in a blanket of Patterson's curse |
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the train smokes down the xylophone |
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there'll be no stopping here |
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all ya can be is thirsty in a town with no cheer |
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no Bourbon, no Branchwater |
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though the townspeople here |
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fought her Vic Rail decree tooth and nail |
|
now it's boilin' in a miserable March 21 st |
|
wrapped the hills in a blanket of Patterson's curse |
|
the train smokes down the xylophone |
|
there'll be no stopping here |
|
all ya can be is thirsty in a town with no cheer |
