Let us cease our idle chatter, Let the tears bedew our cheek, For a man from Tallangatta Has been missing for a week.
Where the roaring flooded Murray
Covered all the lower land, There he started in a hurry With a bottle in his hand.
And his fate is bid for ever, But the public seem to think That he slumbered by the river, 'Neath the influence of drink.
And they scarcely seem to wonder
That the river, wide and deep, Never woke him with its thunder, Never stirred him in his sleep.
And the crashing logs came sweeping
And their tumult filled the air, Then M'Ginnis murmured, sleeping, "'Tis a wake in ould Kildare."
So the river rose and found him
Sleeping softly by the stream. And the cruel waters drowned him Ere he wakened from his dream.
And the blossom-tufted wattle, Blooming brightly on the lea, Saw M'Ginnis and the bottle Going drifting out to sea.
