Words and music A Mosley
Is The Old Home Still The Same?

There is a grey haired mother waiting for a message from her boy,
Though he had wondered far away, he was still her pride and joy,
He had left the dear old folks to seek his fortune far away,
And she had waited patiently fir tidings day by day,
At length the postman stopped one day outside the cottage door,
A letter then he handed her, she scanned it over and over,
‘Twas a message from her darling, the one she had long thought dead,
And she could scarce contain her joy as these fond words she read.
Tell me, is Sydney still the same, just write and let me know,
I’m weary of waiting for news from home of mother dear, Nell and Flo,
Tell all the boys I’ll soon be back. No matter where I roam,
My heart seems to yearn and my thoughts fondly turn,
To Sydney, my dear home.

Though you left in pained sorrow, though you left your home in shame,
I am longing to embrace you, Jack, with my arms again,
For my life has been so lonely, you were both my pride and joy,
It fills my heart with gladness just to hear from you, my boy,
Forgotten and forgiven are your foolish deeds, dear jack.
You’re certain of a welcome, lad, whenever you come back,
It comforts your old mother, lad, for more than tongue can tell,
Come back, and you’ll find Sydney is the same old Sydney still. Repeat chorus.