It's a lucky, lucky country, a place that we call home. Like the birds of a feather we fly together in a lucky place called home. When I was a little bloke I wrestled with my brother, we camped out in the scrub. We'd eat beans from a can and a kilo of potatoes and an apple that we stole from mum. There's a pretty little girl bathing in a billow pond, having fun in the sun. I'd pass her and say, well have a good day, say good day to your mum. It's a lucky, lucky country, a place that we call home. Like the birds of a feather we fly together in a lucky place called home. It's a lucky, lucky country, a place that we call home. Well I jumped into the teeny and went fishing with my dad, we didn't catch a thing. We drank beer and ate chicken even though the line was flicking and I began to sing. Just a simple little ditty you can sing in the city, doesn't matter if you're not in the bush. Just listen to the words, you will understand why we fight for one common cause. It's a lucky, lucky country, a place that we call home. Like the birds of a feather we fly together in a lucky place called home. It's a lucky, lucky country, a place that we call home. Like the birds of a feather we fly together in a lucky place called home. It's a lucky, lucky country, a place that we call home. Like the birds of a feather we fly together in a lucky place called home. Like the birds of a feather we fly together in a lucky place called home.