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Where’s Rose Hill, Where?

© 2005 Words and music by Ben Scott. Lyrics adapted from journals by Lt.Watkin Tench
 
Lyrics:
 
In April 1791 a party numerous and strong
Went the Hawkesbury’s path to find
And it was no sunny turnpike ramble, the going rough and rations spare
And the sandflies took their share
 
And our natives carried each his pack, sure of foot on a rugged track
Boladeree and Colbee, they
Laughed and ribbed us to excess at our clumsy steps, scorned out distress
As we toiled our uncouth way
 
By the riverbank we shot some ducks, which Boladeree wouldn't swim for
Just to satisfy the white men
His reproach I fear was justly founded, for of those we'd shot before
Some half picked bones were all they'd seen
 
And they pointed to the ground and said Weeree Weeree which means 'bad'
Crying where's Rose Hill, where?
They uttered a sound denoting distance, its impossible to describe
And their bodies spoke despair
 
In April 1791 a party numerous and strong
Went the Hawkesbury’s path to find
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