We grew up on toast with Vegemite spread,
Wombat stew brewing while stories were said,
Resting in shade where eucalyptus grew,
Dancing the Nutbush the whole evening through.
We sing Waltzing Matilda like everyone knew.
Why can’t I be called Australian too?
My mum cooks dumplings, my dad makes a stew,
Neighbours bring curry and baklava too,
Laughter and spices drift out in the air,
Different old stories that families share.
We cheer for the same team in green and in blue.
Why can’t I be called Australian too?
Some came from islands, some deserts afar,
Some crossed the oceans and followed a star,
Different our languages, different our names,
Still, we play footy and all the same games.
Under one sky of that bright Aussie blue.
Why can’t I be called Australian too?
So if I eat Vegemite, sing by the fire,
Dance the Nutbush till my legs start to tire,
Rest ‘neath the gum trees where cool breezes blew,
Dreaming the same sunlit dreams that you do.
If this is my home and my heart beats true.
Why can’t I be called Australian too?
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