Mornin. As someone once sang:Mornin. Heavy rain, eight degrees, strong southerly, and matey still reckons we'll be laying slabs. .Crap, crap, crapity, crap. .
When you work through a storm
Hold your head up high
And don't be afraid of the rain
At the end of the day
There's a golden pint,
And your chair, fire and tele in your domain
[Pre-Chorus]
Mix on through the wind
Lay flags through the rain
Though your trowel be tossed and blown
Flag on ...