Here lies a bloke who's just gone West, A Number One Australian; He took his gun and did his best To mitigate the alien. So long as he could get to work He needed no sagacity; A German, Austrian, or Turk, Were all the same to Cassidy. Wherever he could raise "the stuff" -- A liquor deleterious -- The question when he'd have enough Was apt to be mysterious. 'Twould worry prudent folks a lot Through mental incapacity; If he could keep it down or not, Was all the same to Cassidy. And when the boys would start a dance, In honour of Terpsichore, 'Twas just an even-money chance You'd find him rather shickery. But once he struck his proper stride, And heard the band's vivacity, The jazz, the tango, or the slide Was all the same to Cassidy. And now he's gone to face the Light, With all it may reveal to him, A life without a drink or fight Perhaps may not appeal to him; But when St Peter calls the roll Of men of proved tenacity, You'll find the front-rank right-hand man Will answer; "Here . . . Cassidy."