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Don't go lookin' through that old camphor box woman, |
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You know those old things only make you cry. |
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When you dream upon that little bunny rug |
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It makes you think that life has passed you by |
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There are days when you wish the world would stop woman, |
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But then you know some wounds would never heal |
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But when I browse the early pages of the children |
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It's then I know exactly how you feel. |
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Hey it's July and the winter sun is shining |
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And the Cootamundra wattle is my friend |
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For all at once my childhood never left me |
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'Cause wattle blossoms bring it back again |
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It's Sunday and you should stop the worry woman, |
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Come out here and sit down in the sun |
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Can't you hear the magpies in the distance? |
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Don't you feel the new day has begun? |
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Can't you hear the bees making honey woman, |
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In the spotted gums where the bellbirds ring? |
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You might grow old and bitter cause you missed it, |
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You know some people never hear such things |
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Hey it's July and the winter sun is shining |
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And the Cootamundra wattle is my friend |
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For all at once my childhood never left me |
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'Cause wattle blossoms bring it back again |
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Don't buy the daily papers any more woman, |
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Read all about what's going on in hell. |
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They don't care to tell the world of kindness, |
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Good news never made a paper sell. |
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There's all the colours of the rainbow in the garden woman, |
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And symphonies of music in the sky. |
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Heaven's all around us if you're looking, |
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But how can you see it if you cry. |
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Hey it's July and the winter sun is shining |
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And the Cootamundra wattle is my friend |
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For all at once my childhood never left me |
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'Cause wattle blossoms bring it back again. |
