| I was driving through the Pilliga, getting tired of the road
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| Pulled over for a breather, stretched my legs and checked the load
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| It was getting close to sundown, been away near on a week
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| When I pulled into this campsite on the banks of Toolie Creek
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| Well, I walked around the trail and the bush was pretty still
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| Checking ropes and kicking tires, in the night there had a chill
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| I was climbing in the cabin when I thought I heard a moan
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| And I got this sudden feeling that I wasn’t on my own
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| Oh, there’s something in the Pilliga, I’ve heard old timers say
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| That some won’t even camp there, some never go that way
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| And if you listen to their stories, they’ll make your skin just crawl
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| Some may offer their opinion and some never talk at all
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| Well, I put her down to maybe, the wind blowing in the trees
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| Completely disregarding shaky feelings in my knees
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| I was climbing in the camper, forty winks was all I’d take
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| When I felt the cabin shaking, I was really wide awake
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| Oh, I grabbed the tire lever out from underneath the seat
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| Hit the lights and threw some Roman sandals on my feet
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| I was creeping 'round the bull-bar, out roared this awful sound
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| And my hair was standing straight up, I was frozen to the ground
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| Hey, there’s something in the Pilliga, I’ve heard old timers say
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| That some won’t even camp there, some never go that way
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| And if you listen to their stories, they’ll make your skin just crawl
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| Some may offer their opinion and some never talk at all
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| Then this thing came charging for me, it was all of ten feet high
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| With hair all covered over, murder in its devil eyes
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| And I must’ve started screaming like a banshee in full flight
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| For it roared and grunted something and then vanished in the night
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| When finally I woke up, I was lying on the ground
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| And an eerie kind of stillness, nothing moved nor made a sound
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| Both my eyes were big as saucers, still seeing in my mind
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| That primeval apparition, red eyes burning into mine
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| Oh, there’s something in the Pilliga, I’ve heard it rant and roar
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| And my nerves were shot to pieces remembering what I saw
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| It was big and it was hairy, its perfume really reeked
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| Yeah, there’s something in the Pilliga mate, on the banks of Toolie Creek
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| Let it stay there in the Pilliga on the banks of Toolie Creek |