There's-a nothing so lonesome, morbid or drear
Than to hear all you prospectors crying in fear
Standing around the campsite with tears in your eyes
Because Reedy Creek has nearly run dry
Now the Mexican’s are praying for their quota to come
Banjo’s without water ain’t really no fun
James is all cranky 
and Ron’s acting queer
There’s hardly any water but there’s plenty of beer
Then Spud turns up with his dry dusty throat
He takes out Sambucca from inside his coat
But the smile on his face quickly turns to a cry
As the rest of them tell him the creek has run dry
Then Andy comes in smothered in dust and flies
He puts down Miss Pippin and rubs the sweat from his eyes
But when he is told, he says it must be a lie
I've trudged fifty flamin' miles to a creek that is dry
And White Eagle the baker, the story of his life
Has gone home again gold-less to his darling wife
He walks in the kitchen, she says, my oh my
He breaks down and tells her Reedy Creek has run dry
It’s not lonesome away when your golding with mates
The creek may be dry, but hell, them there’s the breaks
It’s got to rain soon, maybe next year
So it’s chin up my boys and let’s have another beer
The devil made me do it!
Mrs Fly
