| Winter time Dad came home
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| Dirty diesel and rust
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| Pearly whites like diamonds
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| Smiling through the dust
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| Yummy mutton and pumkin
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| For a hungry gutted crew
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| We knew Mum loved us all to death
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| And we all loved her too
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| Well I couldn’t wait to walk in my old, man's shoes
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| And what more could I ask
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| To head off with my biscuit tin
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| Black Tea in a thermos flask
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| To learn to plough a real straight line
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| And learn to be alone
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| In ever diminishing circles
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| Solve problems on my own
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| Now it’s considered normal
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| To pass your acres down
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| But if you’ve got more children
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| Well you try to buy more ground
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| So you borrow heaps of money
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| Just to give your kids a go
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| After all that’s said and done
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| You taught them all you know
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| Now there were days we nearly sold
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| With frost and then a drought
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| Easier ways to make a quid
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| Would sort the young ones out
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| They say it builds your character
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| Good women and good men
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| Who turn around when the crop has failed
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| And sow it all again
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| So hold on tight you cockies
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| I know the feeling well
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| If you couldn’t save the family farm
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| Then you’d rather go to Hell
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| No one will share your burden
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| No one will share the blame
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| And my heart goes out to the familes
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| of The Farming Game |