And the cry of the fox hunting on the dark hill
Can be heard through the night when the breezes blow chill
Across the land of the wallaby and wombat and grey kangaroo
And galah and long billed and little corella species of cockatoo
This Countryside that was old in the Dreamtime
That has inspired many a song man to rhyme.
Through the old brown paddocks that border the town
The creek from the high country babbles on down
It’s liquid voice never still every night and day
As it flows to the big river many miles away.
The Winter days chilly but never too cold
In the old brown country that is very old
Where the white backed magpies pipe all through the year
Even sometimes at night them singing one does hear.