Well,
when I was a child, my mother told me,
son,
don't succumb to fanfare,
wait for your day to come.
Dad drank like a fish,
watching Geronimo on the couch
with his belly out in a cloud of Richmond smoke.
We snuck around the back by the light of the TV glow.
Tell me where we're going or when can we leave?
Take your brother's car, I'll drive for free.
The paddling eyes are coming around on the day of the big,
day of the big sundown.
I worked all summer saving up to father nest.
I was cutting grass in the coal of sack with a two stroke up cadet.
I was dreaming of the Bushman in the northern desert sky.
Martin Cash and old Bojack and the great Australian bite.
Well,
I pushed that moor around every goddamn house in town.
Tell
me where we're going or what's the plan?
We took a course in the promised land.
I could see a snail man riding out on the way to the big,
way to the big sundown.
Cause the road will open up and at least that's what I hope,
what I hope,
what I hope it does.
We got to Darwin Harbor,
was the fall of 83.
The foreman at us,
poor and * by a sewage treatment facility.
Said you couldn't find the end of a shovel,
cause you can't teach stupid how.
Now go ahead fellas,
it's now or never and those holes won't fill themselves.
I said thank you very much,
but I think we best be off.
Tell me where we're going or when can we stop?
Do you reckon Jimmy Cook man ever felt lost?
I wonder if he turned around on the way to the big,
way to the big sundown.
Cause the road will
open up and at least that's what I hope,
what I hope,
what I hope it does.