Your native language

عربي

Arabic

عربي

简体中文

Chinese

简体中文

Nederlands

Dutch

Nederlands

Français

French

Français

Deutsch

German

Deutsch

Italiano

Italian

Italiano

日本語

Japanese

日本語

한국인

Korean

한국인

Polski

Polish

Polski

Português

Portuguese

Português

Română

Romanian

Română

Русский

Russian

Русский

Español

Spanish

Español

Türk

Turkish

Türk

Українська

Ukrainian

Українська
User Avatar

Som


Interface


Nível de dificuldade


Sotaque



Interface de linguagem

pt

Lyrkit YouTube Lyrkit Instagram Lyrkit Facebook
Política de cookies   |   Suporte   |   FAQ
1
cadastre-se / faça login
Lyrkit

doar

5$

Lyrkit

doar

10$

Lyrkit

doar

20$

Lyrkit

E/ou me apoie nas redes sociais. redes:


Lyrkit YouTube Lyrkit Instagram Lyrkit Facebook
Slim Dusty

Where Country Is

 

Where Country Is


He sat by the door of the grand old Birdsville Pub,
His swag and gear guarded by a faithful heeler dog,
He wore a shirt that would blind ya and a rumpled ringer's hat,
This old man was country, he left no doubt of that.

There was legend in the lines of his weather beaten face,
Those eyes had seen a lot of changes in the Aussie race,
The passing of the horseman, the death of an ace,
Seems to me he's doubys, that we've turned a better page.

He sat there hillbilly picking on a cracked and battered Gibson,
And the songs that he sang were all his,
Every song told a story and the more that I'd listen,
The more I realized this is where country is.

He sang of mobs of cattle moving down the Birdsville track,
And the camels carting wool in the early days outback,
He sang of wild eyed scrubbers riding flat out in the night,
Trying to ring the mob, 'cause lightning's quick to fright.

And he sang loudly and proudly of our pioneering ladies
And I suspect that one such lass was his.
Home in this early frontier country, was lonely dirt floor Humphrey,
No doubt about it, this man knows where country is.

His songs told how they did it and I felt a sense of shame,
And I wondered if the battler would ever be again,
His pride for his country rang true in every song,
And I wondered, if the chips were down, I would be as strong.

He sat there hillbilly picking on a cracked and battered Gibson,
And the songs that he sang were all his,
Every song told a story and the more that I'd listen,
The more I realized this is where country is.

Yes mate, we're so far from the city here.
You know what this is where country is,
dust storms, flies...

feito

Você adicionou todas as palavras desconhecidas dessa música?