Ron was
a miner man,
coal dust on his hand
A temper you could see from space
Jean was his miner's bride
Different as day from night
Poised with a humble air of grace
He was a wide -mouthed shovel
Rough as a pile of rubble
She wore her dressing gown
Like a royal robe of gold
He was a black coal miner,
she was fine old china
Queen to the king,
with coal dust on his hands
They lived across the road,
neat little fibro home
We'd stop out the front
and have a chat
Sometimes the sun dropped by,
she'd wait for the sparks to fly
Son and father fighting,
like two cats in a sack
He was a wide -mouthed shuttle,
rough as a pile of rubble
She was a gently floating,
jasmine -scented breeze
And he was a black coal miner,
she was phylogena
A queen to the king,
with coal dust on his hands
He was a six -inch nail,
she was a nightingale,
Somehow they made it to the end.
He was a lump of coal,
she had a diamond soul,
Forever and ever and ever,
Amen.
He was a wide -mouthed shovel,
rough as a pile of rubble,
She had noble blood
running through her veins
He was a black coal miner,
she was fine bone china
Queen to the king,
with coal dust on his hands
She never did complain,
she called all my kids by name
Queen to the
King
With
Colossus on his hands