SON PLAY ANOTHER COSTER SONG The old man clutched his walker as he slowly shuffled by, Then paused and turned towards me with a glint in his old eye I sensed he liked the Coster song that I was knocking out And something ‘bout the way he smiled sure left me in no doubt. Then as I strummed the final chord he winked and smiled some more And something told me this old man loved ballads that’s for sure. He threw three gold coins in my case and wished me all the best, Then with a frail and feeble voice he whispered this request. CHORUS “Son play another Coster song and make an old man’s day. I haven’t many up my sleeve or so the Doctor’s say. You sing and paint the pictures lad of words Stan put to pen And let me share the memories of a life I lived back then. I said old man I’d feel real proud to sing this one for you, ‘cause surely it’s my fav’rite song and mate perhaps yours too. He closed his eyes and drifted off and it was plain to see that this old man was warming to a gidyea memory. The years spent out on stock routes with a creaking wagonette, a pair of dusty moleskins and those mates you don’t forget. Black tea and camp made damper and a swag wrap for a bed and all the while the old man’s words were ringing in my head. CHORUS “Son play another Coster song and make an old man’s day. I haven’t many up my sleeve or so the Doctor’s say. You sing and paint the pictures lad of words Stan put to pen And let me share the memories of a life I lived back then. He tipped his old Akubra back and reached out with his hand And though the years had sapped his strength his grip was mighty grand. “Son Coster had a gift you see to tell things how they were, His ballads reached the hearts of folk, to this I can concur. We miss the old mate and his wife; god bless their mortal souls, So keep the mem’ries burning like a fire of gidyea coals. Then as I watched him shuffle off, I treasured what he said, ‘Cause that wise man was my old dad. God bless his old grey head. CHORUS “Son play another Coster song and make an old man’s day. I haven’t many up my sleeve or so the Doctor’s say. You sing and paint the pictures lad of words Stan put to pen And let me share the memories of a life I lived back then. © Bush Poet and Ballad Writer -Merv Webster
Posted on: Wed, 03 Dec 2014 10:36:41 +0000
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