| An old digger in an armchair
|
| Through purple jacaranda
|
| All alone with slippers on his feet
|
| His loves have all gone north
|
| To live in New South Wales
|
| And his tired eyes don’t focus on the street
|
| Would he be my Grandpa?
|
| I wonder would he mind
|
| He could take me fishin', Oh-Oh,
|
| And I could pick his apricots
|
| And put 'em in a tin
|
| But he probably doesn’t like me
|
| Hey old man verandah
|
| Can’t you see the boy
|
| Throwin' stones so bored and so lonely
|
| He might break a window
|
| But he might break a heart
|
| 'Cause he might be a world for you to love
|
| Would he be my Grandpa?
|
| I wonder would he mind
|
| He could take me drivin' in his Humber
|
| And maybe he could teach me
|
| How to shoot a gun
|
| And how to skin a rabbit
|
| Hey old man verandah
|
| Can’t you hear the boy
|
| Rattlin' pickets just for your attention
|
| He could do a lot for you
|
| You’d do a lot for him
|
| 'Cause he might be a world for you to love
|
| It’s just another lonely picture
|
| You can hang it on the wall
|
| On Sunday they still gather on the lawn
|
| The peppercorns are older
|
| But no-one seems much wiser
|
| They sent the boy to fight the Asian War
|
| Would he be my Grandpa?
|
| I wonder would he mind
|
| He could take me fishin', Oh-Oh,
|
| And I could pick his apricots
|
| And put 'em in a tin
|
| But he probably doesn’t like me… |