| Old Patrick O’Shaughnessy sits at the bar
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| Cradling a tall glass of stout
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| His white flowing beard covers most of his face
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| And his wild Irish eyes gaze about
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| He was born of an age now forgotten
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| Somewhere in the long distant past
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| Now his day’s mostly spent
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| With his old elbow bent
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| In the bar of the old Northern Star
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| I walked to him and I said:
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| «G'day, mate. |
| Can I refill your glass there old mate?»
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| His eyes slowly lifted until they met mine
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| And a smile creased his weathered old face
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| I said: «Mate, do you miss the old country?
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| Does your heart ever yearn for the green?»
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| His eyes misted over as he drew a breath
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| He said: «I'll tell you how I really fell
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| This country and I, we’ve been mates far too long
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| For me to walk out on her now
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| When times weren’t real good
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| Or I was short of a quid
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| There was always someone to help out
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| I’m as dinkum an Aussie as you’ll ever meet
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| And my accent don’t matter nohow
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| I was born of the green, and this world I have seen
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| But my heart’s in Australia now.»
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| I lost track of the time as we yarned there alone
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| At the very far end of the bar
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| And by closing time we were fairly well primed
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| That night in the old Northern Star
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| I bid him good day and I said I’m away
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| And I wandered off into the night
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| But I couldn’t forget the words that he said
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| They kept coming back time after time
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| This country and I, we’ve been mates far too long
|
| For me to walk out on her now
|
| When times weren’t real good
|
| Or I was short of a quid
|
| There was always someone to help out
|
| I’m as dinkum an Aussie as you’ll ever meet
|
| And my accent don’t matter nohow
|
| I was born of the green, and this world I have seen
|
| But my heart’s in Australia now
|
| I was born of the green, and this world I have seen
|
| But my heart’s in Australia now |