| Down by the Hunter where the coal-trucks roll
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| And the billboards tell ya where to save your soul
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| There’s another place, does a better job by far
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| When the moonlight hammers on the railway bridge
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| And the whole world’s lookin' for a beverage
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| And you ain’t got nothin', nothin' in the boot a the car
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| Time for the backroom at Dougie and Gleny Rae’s tikki bar
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| When the coal-trucks settle up and down the line
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| You can wake up thinking that it’s ‘89
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| But there’s another sound, thicker than a Bolivar
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| You can hear it pumping out the roll-a-door
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| Walnut piano on a wooden floor
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| Backbeat drummer, Roy on a slide guitar
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| Coming from the backroom at Dougie and Gleny Rae’s tikki bar
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| When the high tide’s suckin' at the old sea wall
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| And the full moon’s lookin' like a mirror ball
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| Bigger than Elvis, hotter than a speedway star
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| With a wet paypacket on a midnight hand
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| They say you can win a mariachi band
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| You can lose a girl, quicker than a coup de grace
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| In the backroom at Dougie and Gleny Rae’s tikki bar
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| Haul that mother, haul that son
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| Haul that rubber to the end of a run
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| That ain’t got ridden since between the wars
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| All hidden from the liquor laws
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| Down by the Hunter where the coal-trucks roll
|
| And the billboards tell ya where to save your soul
|
| There’s another place, does a better job by far
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| That’s the backroom (at Dougie and Gleny Rae’s) |