We drink our sadness away,
One for the road we shout,
One cold one to the bum tented maid,
Yes one my dear folks,
A drink to hell on sorrow lane.
Yes one for the road I said son,
It's never easy facing a woman's wrath on a sober mind
She rants and breaths like a tasmanian devil,
Hef screeches grind lounder than our neighbours posho mill,
Her gaze pierces deeper than grandfather's spear,
Yes i bed her through the cold nights
Her skin hotter than the gods lay,
Not an eye do I close,
She from the mountain scapes,
But you smile at her snare,
Laugh at her anger,
Not in sight but beneath the shadow of her sheep skin,
The rest son
This father will do
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