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."