Rosewood Hill Lyrics - Pipe Dream - John Williamson

by John Williamson 

She had her back to him 

As he walked in through the door 

He'd been down in the forest 

He said, "I cut me a walkin' stick palm 

Down by the stingin' tree 

Never thought I'd see the day I'd need one" 

She said, "The real estate people came again today 

I made them a pot of tea 

They said we'd fetch a million dollars 

For our little old 'Rosewood Hill' 

I guess they thought we might consider 

What would we do with a million 

When we own paradise 

Buy us an acre of sand 

You tell those eager beavers 

They won't be talkin' to me 

This paradise is not for sale" 

He's the last of the old cow cockies 

Up there in the clouds 

Wouldn't white-coast gold shoes love to get 

Their hands on his land 

Smell the crispy bacon 

Spit and crackle on the fry 

The promise of a brand new day 

Shake the cloudy blanket 

And throw it to the sky 

The valley takes your breath away 

The crows are perched and waitin' 

The family dreams of gold 

Surely soon the old man will fade away