| For nearly sixty years, I’ve been a Cocky
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| Of droughts and fires and floods I’ve lived through plenty
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| This country’s dust and mud have seen my tears and blood
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| But it’s nearly over now, and now I’m easy
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| I married a fine girl when I was twenty
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| But she died in giving birth when she was thirty
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| No flying doctor then, just a gentle old black friend
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| But it’s nearly over now, and now I’m easy
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| She left me with two sons and a daughter
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| And a bone-dry farm whose soil cried out for water
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| So my care was rough and ready, but they grew up fine and steady
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| But it’s nearly over now, and now I’m easy
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| My daughter married young, and went her own way
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| My sons lie buried by the Burma Railway
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| So on this land I’ve made me home, I’ve carried on alone
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| But it’s nearly over now, and now I’m easy
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| City folks these days despise the Cocky
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| Say with subsidies and dole, we’ve had it easy
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| But there’s no drought or starving stock on a sewered suburban block
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| But it’s nearly over now, and now I’m easy
|
| For nearly sixty years, I’ve been a Cocky
|
| Droughts and fires and floods, I’ve lived through plenty
|
| This country’s dust and mud, have seen my tears and blood
|
| But it’s nearly over now, and now I’m easy
|
| And now I’m easy |