| Well it’s hotter 'n blazes and all the long faces
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| there’ll be no oasis for a dry local grazier
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| there’ll be no refreshment for a thirsty jackaroo
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| from Melbourne to Adelaide on the overlander
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| with newfangled buffet cars and faster locomotives
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| the train stopped in Serviceton less and less often
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| There’s nothing sadder than a town with no cheer
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| Voc Rail decided the canteen was no longer necessary there
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| no spirits, no bilgewater and 80 dry locals
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| and the high noon sun beats a hundred and four
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| there’s a hummingbird trapped in a closed down shoe store
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| This tiny Victorian rhubarb
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| kept the watering hole open for sixty five years
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| now it’s boilin’in a miserable March 21 st wrapped the hills in a blanket of Patterson’s curse
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| the train smokes down the xylophone
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| there’ll be no stopping here
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| all ya can be is thirsty in a town with no cheer
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| no Bourbon, no Branchwater
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| though the townspeople here
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| fought her Vic Rail decree tooth and nail
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| now it’s boilin’in a miserable March 21 st wrapped the hills in a blanket of Patterson’s curse
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| the train smokes down the xylophone
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| there’ll be no stopping here
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| all ya can be is thirsty in a town with no cheer |