D Now old Billy Kirk was a twenty-minute egg,
With his A7 flowing white beard and his one wooden leg;
As his D old bay mare went a-loping by
He could A7 swing into the saddle like a G6 bird could D fly.
D7 Old Billy Kirk! With his mane of silv'ry Em hair;
A7 At G ninety D four and G even more D he could A7 throw a flip in the D air.
From Glenomaru to the Gentle Annie bend,
From the Shotover Stream to the Blue Mountain end,
He could outride all on a bucking horse,
As he rode his share of winners on the Beaumont course.
Old Billy Kirk! He stood just five feet one,
But I'll be durn'd, a saddle-burned, real tough old son-of-a-gun.
And he'd ride past the school on his old bay mare.
He'd fiddle his tune and he'd play all night,
While the young folk would dance till the morning light.
Old Billy Kirk! He weighed just eight stone two;
When things got tough, the going rough, he'd always see a mate through.
He blazed out the trail, sent the wagons rolling through
In the gold fever days on the wild Molyneux;
He packed out gold and he packed in rye
For the leather-throated miners on the Nokomai.
Old Billy Kirk! He lived five score and five,
He played it straight, a dinkum mate, he made his final trail drive.
