It's seven O'clock and no-one's at the tin shed out back
A car pulls up in a cloud of dust and a band starts to unpack
They start the generator, set up an old P.A.
Dust a set of tunes off and the night is under way

Then from out of nowhere comes a friendly country crowd
On dusty tracks through fields of wheat they come from miles around
They know the 'Strip the Willow', they know the 'Galopede'
They'll call for a 'Pride of Erin' and a 'Barn Dance' if you please

The tin shed rattles
The floorboards groan
Nobody dances alone
Swinging from the rafters
There's laughter in the air
It's a Saturday night at a bush dance.

There's a handbag on a wooden seat that's safe with baby there
Rocked to sleep with pounding feet and rhythms in the air
Fathers dance with daughters whose feet don't touch the ground
Grandmas teach the boys to lead when partners pass around

The hall is overgrown now it's locked and barred you see
Everybody stays inside with video and TV
But on some lonely moonlit night I swear I've heard the beat
The roar of laughing voices and stomp of dancing feet