Don't go lookin' through that old camphor box woman,
You know those old things only make you cry.
When you dream upon that little bunny rug
It makes you think that life has passed you by
There are days when you wish the world would stop woman,
But then you know some wounds would never heal
But when I browse the early pages of the children
It's then I know exactly how you feel.
Hey it's July and the winter sun is shining
And the Cootamundra wattle is my friend
For all at once my childhood never left me
'Cause wattle blossoms bring it back again.
It's Sunday and you should stop the worry woman,