To the bar he goes in his half grown beard
and his workman's clothes
Till closing time he will sit and think of the things
that he did in his prime
When his hair was longer, and his ideals were stronger
before he let things pass
When he thought he was the voice of the working class
he really thought he was the voice of the working class
VERSE 2
But Oh! the memories, of wild nights spent in Carlton bars
And oh the tales he tells, of dexydrin and borrowed cars
His hands they shake, his eyes they glaze
He exaggerates his Whitlam days
We all grow old, we all get fat
Pray to God we don't all go like that
VERSE 3