| Don’t go lookin' through that old camphor box, woman
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| You know those old things only make you cry
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| When you dream upon that little bunny rug
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| Makes you think that life has passed you by
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| There are days when you wish the world would stop, woman
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| But then you know some wounds would never heal
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| But when I browse the early pages of the children
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| It’s then I know exactly how you feel
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| Hey it’s July and the winter sun is shining
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| And Cootamundra wattle is my friend
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| For all at once my childhood never left me
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| 'Cause wattle blossoms bring it back again
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| It’s Sunday and you should stop the worrying, woman
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| Come out here and sit down in the sun
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| Can’t you hear the magpies in the distance
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| Dont' you know a new day has begun
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| Can’t you hear the bees makin' honey, woman
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| In the spotted gums where the bellbirds ring
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| You might grow old and bitter 'cause you missed it
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| You know some people never hear such things
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| Hey it’s July and the winter sun is shining
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| And Cootamundra wattle is my friend
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| For all at once my childhood never left me
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| 'Cause wattle blossoms bring it back again
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| Don’t buy the daily papers any more, woman
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| Read all about what’s going on in hell
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| They don’t care to tell the world of kindness
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| Good news never made a paper sell
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| There’s all the colours of the rainbow in the garden, woman
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| And symphonies of music in the sky
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| Heaven’s all around us if you’re looking
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| But how can you see it if you cry
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| Hey it’s July and the winter sun is shining
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| And Cootamundra wattle is my friend
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| For all at once my childhood never left me
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| 'Cause wattle blossoms bring it back again |