| By a warm electric heater and a softly padded chair
|
| In a loungeroom brightly lighted by a glowing chandelier
|
| Since my early days of drovin' the years have taken toll
|
| But I somehow miss my swag wrap by a fire of Gidgee coal
|
| When I wake from sleep each morning and I ring the bedside bell
|
| The maid brings in my breakfast and she fills my pipe as well
|
| There are cakes and sweetened coffee on a tray of sparkling gold
|
| But I miss black tea and damper by a fire of Gidgee coal
|
| I am driven' out each evening by a chauffer spruce and neat
|
| Through the flowered parks and gardens and the crowded city streets
|
| But I drift back through the ages while the big car softly rolls
|
| To a stock route and a wagonette and a fire of Gidgee coal
|
| I attend all social parties in the rich parts of the town
|
| Drinking wine from fancy glasses as the waiters go their rounds
|
| But I’d rather share a bottle with those drovin' mates of old
|
| In a pair of dusty moleskins by a fire of Gidgee coal
|
| In a pair of dusty moleskins by a fire of Gidgee coal |