I walked in the roadhouse restaurant.
It had been a long drive. My mind was far away.
The lady at the counter asked me, ‘What do you want?'
But as I looked towards the plastic palm trees
here's all I could say:
My wahine in Wang, Wangaratta.
It is not goodbye. We will hula again.
My wahine in Wang, it doesn't matter that we're apart.
I still love yoooou.
Although I must go far down the road: the Hume Highway.
Trucks will pass and gum leaves fall, I'll return some day
She looked at me, and said I was a great galoot.
‘You're a great galoot!'
She called her husband in who showed me the door.
Then I departed with a healthy boot, UGHH
and as I flew out
the summer breeze seemed to whisper to me:
My wahine in Wang, Wangaratta. It is not goodbye.
We will hula again.
Though we're apart I still recall the parted palm trees.
The waves in her hair: splish splash splish splash.
I remember the lagoon.
The sink where the water falls.
But most of all I remember her husband Craig:
about six-foot-six, broad shoulders, WHAT A WACKER.
My wahine in Wang, Wangaratta. It is not goodbye.
We will hula again.
My wahine in Wang, it doesn't matter that we're apart.
I still love yoooou.

KORREKTUREN ÃœBERMITTELN