Rosewood Hill - John Williamson

She had her back to him

As he walked in through the door

He’d been down in the forest

He said, «I cut me a walkin' stick palm

Down by the stingin' tree

Never thought I’d see the day I’d need one»

She said, «The real estate people came again today

I made them a pot of tea

They said we’d fetch a million dollars

For our little old 'Rosewood Hill'

I guess they thought we might consider

What would we do with a million

When we own paradise

Buy us an acre of sand

You tell those eager beavers

They won’t be talkin' to me

This paradise is not for sale"

He’s the last of the old cow cockies

Up there in the clouds

Wouldn’t white-coast gold shoes love to get

Their hands on his land

Smell the crispy bacon

Spit and crackle on the fry

The promise of a brand new day

Shake the cloudy blanket

And throw it to the sky

The valley takes your breath away

The crows are perched and waitin'

The family dreams of gold

Surely soon the old man will fade away