On stinking hot days
when the ground burns your feet
You stare at the ceiling
the trains break your sleep
The roads have got pot holes
and your car falls apart
And the milkbar attendant
would like to sell up
And our neighbours hold on to
the things they know best
they sweep out verandahs
and cry for their kids
The primary school children
on the gravel school yard
they've got grins that start one side
and go all around
happy as they play make-believe games
with themselves for a while
And it's the older Greek women
who are the ones dressed in black
not new wave guitarists
with cows on their backs
And the Thistle Hotel is a dream on it's own
and every pool table has blood on the cloth
The motor car workshop has dogs chained
and tied to the fence for the night
And the further you travel the longer it takes
Your car takes a beating, the roads aren’t the best
And I don't think the Colbys have been out to Thomastown
Somehow I doubt that they will
Somehow I doubt that they will
