Lee Kernaghan - Scots of the Riverina lyrics
[Lee Kernaghan - Scots of the Riverina lyrics]
The boy ran away to the city
From his home at Christmas time
They were Scots of the Riverina and to run
From home was a crime
The old man burned his letters
The first and last he burned
And he scratched his name from the Bible
When his old wife's back was turned
A year went past and another and
The fruit went down the line
They heard the boy had enlisted but
The old man made no sign
His name must never be mentioned
On the farm by Gundagai
They were Scots of the Riverina with
Ever the kirk hard by
The boy came home on his final
And the township's bonfire burned
His mother's arms were about him but
The old man's back was turned
The daughters begged for pardon till the
Old man raised his hand
A Scot of the Riverina who
Was hard to understand
The boy was killed in Flanders
Where the bravest heroes died
There were tears at the Grahame
Homestead and grief in Gundagai
But the old man ploughed at daybreak and
The old man ploughed till the mirk
There were furrows of pain in the orchard
While his housefolk went to the kirk
The hurricane lamp in the rafters
Dimly and dimly burned
And the old man died at the table
When his old wife's back was turned
Face down on his bare arms folded he
Sank with his wild grey hair
Outspread o'er the open Bible and
A name rewritten there
From his home at Christmas time
They were Scots of the Riverina and to run
From home was a crime
The old man burned his letters
The first and last he burned
And he scratched his name from the Bible
When his old wife's back was turned
A year went past and another and
The fruit went down the line
They heard the boy had enlisted but
The old man made no sign
His name must never be mentioned
On the farm by Gundagai
They were Scots of the Riverina with
Ever the kirk hard by
The boy came home on his final
And the township's bonfire burned
His mother's arms were about him but
The old man's back was turned
The daughters begged for pardon till the
Old man raised his hand
A Scot of the Riverina who
Was hard to understand
The boy was killed in Flanders
Where the bravest heroes died
There were tears at the Grahame
Homestead and grief in Gundagai
But the old man ploughed at daybreak and
The old man ploughed till the mirk
There were furrows of pain in the orchard
While his housefolk went to the kirk
The hurricane lamp in the rafters
Dimly and dimly burned
And the old man died at the table
When his old wife's back was turned
Face down on his bare arms folded he
Sank with his wild grey hair
Outspread o'er the open Bible and
A name rewritten there