| If you’ve ever been to the Kimberley
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| Just like old Vegie Bill
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| You’ll pine and whine to get back there
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| But he reckons he never will
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| 'Cause he’s got too long in th tooth
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| And he’s taken a turn or two
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| So his missus bought him a picture book
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| Said 'That'll just have to do'
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| So I’m goin' up there for the old bloke
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| Kunnunurra, to see his mate
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| I’ll send him a card from the Fitzroy
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| He’ll show it around 'The Glengarry'
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| To Nifty and his wife
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| Then he’ll start all over again
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| Reminiscing his Kimberley life
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| He’ll go on about the scenery, unbelievable
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| Nothing else comes near it in the land
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| He said a lot of his mates were Aboriginal
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| They took him like a brother
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| Well, he had a lot of stories
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| But I reckon his favourite
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| Was how his mate brought his brother home to rest
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| Still stiff and frozen solid from the morgue
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| And he kept the beer cartons cold on his chest
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| Well the family couldn’t come at the vegetables
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| Or the sausages neatly wrapped around the dead
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| So they had to dig for yam and eat goanna
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| And hunt for wallaby instead
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| Well, Bill used to sell vegetables to the opal miners
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| Off his humble little one-ton truck
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| He didn’t make a lot of dough
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| But he made a heap of friends out there
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| Where they move a thousand ton of dirt for an ounce of luck
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| You know I kinda feel sorry for old Bill
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| Sipping another beer in the summer breeze
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| He’s still up there in the North in hi heart and his mind
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| Grading a gravel road in the Kimberley |