At Lightning Ridge - John Williamson

Don’t ask any questions

Don’t snoop around his claim

He’ll be out with a dog and a shotgun

Who knows what he’s hiding

Or why he makes his stand

Men like him are buried alive

With Opals in their hands

Well they say he came from Lismore

That’s about all we know

He came for a weekend only

Twenty years ago

Well he must have had money in the bank

Or he’s found a lot more than potch

For every month he sends a cab

For another case of scotch

He’s a dreamer, he’s a drinker

A Bull-Ant in a hole

He’s a schemer, He’s a thinker

He’s a lonely soul

He’s gouging for the opal

Like a Wombat or a Mole

Way out there at Lightning Ridge

Down below the Leopardwood

Below the Biblebox

Get your thrill on lunatic hill

Flashes of dancing colour, Green and Gold and Red

Mix it with black and you’re on your back

Digging until you’re dead

Well, It’s not about a fancy car

It’s not about the cash

They passed the hat for a swimming pool

And built it in a flash

No, It’s all about the Opal

You get it in your eye

You see a glimpse of heaven

With Angels in the sky