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The Old Jack

I am the man in the white suit  
With the sunshine in my hair
Sitting playing the maracas
In my old cane rocking chair;
The old Union Jack is flying
On a pole above my head
In my little corner where
The empire isn't yet dead.

 I am the man in the white suit
Criss crossing from land to land
Carrying my battered old banjo
Re strung for the dexter hand.
I speak with those people about
Their world that's fresh and new
And I play my songs of freedom
Wherever once the Old Jack flew.

I am the man in the white suit
And my world is shrinking fast
And I see no future for me but
Return to the old country at last.
So I've folded up the Old Jack
And with stiff upper lip I try
To keep my sense of dignity
As I bid a respectful goodbye.

I am the man in the white suit.
I stand at the entrance to your town
And I blow my bugle fiercely
As the evening sun goes down;
And I thank you for your kindness
And for all the friendship true
That you ungrudgingly gave us
In that time when the Old Jack flew

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