Flying Scotsman

A train that travelled far through the rugged Australian terrain,
From the sprawling city of Sydney, to my little home domain.
Played with for hours, flying along the track,
Over hills and 'round the bends, never did it stack.
Its crisp green paint still vibrant, the golden trim still bright,
Its wheels tall and grand and the smoke box black as night.

Never has she let me down, she’s always been on time,
Turn up the controller and she races down the line.
Wheels spinning fast, pistons pumping hard,
It’s going even faster than the mighty Mallard!
Key to my heart; apple of my eye,
I would never let it go; I would rather die.

My Flying Scotsman is the best,
Better than all the rest!
There’s no other machine as grand,
Not even in all the land.
And no other train so quick,
None of the others quite do the trick.

My Flying Scotsman is the best,
Better than all the rest!