| It’s been a hard hard year, pushing shit up hill
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| But shit happens all the time and I guess it always will
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| Now the days are getting long, Summer’s on it’s way
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| And I can’t wait for Christmas time, beacuse the day after is Boxing Day
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| And You’ll know where to find me, ten rows back at the M.C.G
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| Right behind the bowler’s arm
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| So leave your worries at the farm don’t fret about the rain
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| Hold your credit at the store, bring the kids down on the train
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| Meet me on the Richmond side just outside the gate
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| I want to see the very first ball but no sweat if you’re running late
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| 'Cause you know where to find me, there’s no place I’d rather be
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| Right behind the bowler’s arm
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| And if we’re lucky we might see, someone make a ton or slashing fifty
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| Yeah if we’re lucky there might be, a bowling spell of sheer wizardry
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| But probably nothing much will happen at all
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| (Even if David Boon makes a century nothing much happens)
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| When the angels add my days and say my time is up
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| I’ll say to them now hold on please there’s one thing you forgot
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| I know each man must leave this world behind when he gets called
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| But we had a deal that you won’t count the days I watched the bat & ball
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| And the angels, they’ll know where to find me
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| There’s no place I’d rather be
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| Right behind the bowlers
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| They’ll know where to find me, ten rows back with sunburnt knees
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| Right behind the bowler’s arm |