Yesterday, On our way back thru Yack We drove along On a bumpy and windy track On the side of the road Was a rundown tin shack Where the wind blew through every crack We drove gently by Trying to leave it intact On Bells Gate Road hid that idyllic track.
Old Stanley pub, Known around here for its blues And delicious grub. Fueled by blanc De blanc, Makes you sway Infused by all intoxicating effects, as the croons slay.
Feet in front of the fire, life pulsating by. As we slow for a second, In the hazy historic high of Beechworth; bank robbers, like Ned, buccaneers and watch the gold rush by.