| One night I was strollin' the time seemed to drag
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| I paused for a drink from the bronze water bag
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| That old Paddy Hannan holds out all the while
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| And I’ll swear that he slipped me a wink and a smile
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| Born on the breeze came the throb of the mines
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| And up in the city the mid nightly chimes
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| And the ghosts of the past and Paddy and I
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| Delved in the realms of the days long gone by
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| From all the world over adventurers came
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| To gamble their lives on the Nullarbor plain
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| They’d fight and they’d laugh they’d love and they’d live
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| And they’d die as they saw what the earth had to give
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| For how many times has the story been told
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| On the fields they all knew there are two kinds of gold
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| There’s the gold that men die for and struggle and strive
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| And the gold we call water that keeps men alive
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| We can only imagine their perils and fears
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| The hardships the heartaches their triumphs and tears
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| Dame fortune was fickle while many she spurned
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| She smiled upon others, some never returned.
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| Today, there are younger strong hands at the reins
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| But the gallant old prospector always remains
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| He’s there in the sunset the trees and the dust
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| His spirit is ours in his land our trust
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| Oh, he’s there sure enough in the big school of mines
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| In the books in the children those brave little vines
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| For the soul does not die as it passes the years
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| And what braver men than the old pioneers
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| So, old Paddy Hannan sits there on his throne
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| And dreams of the past and the days he had known
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| The clothes that he wears are not much for style
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| But who cares for that on the old golden mile.
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| Yes old Paddy Hannan in sunshine or rain
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| Dwells in the street which carries his name
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| His majesty watches out there all alone
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| The King of Kalgoorlie on his street corner throne. |