He’s left us in dejection now;
    Our hearts with him are roving.
It’s dull on this selection now,
    Since Andy went a-droving.

Who now shall wear the cheerful face
    In times when things are slackest?
And who shall whistle round the place
    When Fortune frowns her blackest?

Oh, who shall cheek the squatter now
    When he comes round us snarling?
His tongue is growing hotter now
    Since Andy cross’d the Darling.

The gates are out of order now,
    In storms the ’riders’ rattle;
For far across the border now
    Our Andy’s gone with cattle.

Poor Aunty’s looking thin and white;
    And Uncle’s cross with worry;
And poor old Blucher howls all night
    Since Andy left Macquarie.

Oh, may the showers in torrents fall,
    And all the tanks run over;
And may the grass grow green and tall
    In pathways of the drover;

And may good angels send the rain
    On desert stretches sandy;
And when the summer comes again
    God grant ’twill bring us Andy.