Don't tell me the Banjo's dead, oh, yes I've heard the tale,
That Banjo isn't dead at all, he's caught the western mail,
He has a lot of friends, you know, among the western men,
He wants to look into their eyes, and grip their hands again.
He wants to spend some quiet nights beneath the western stars,
And hear the evening wind again, among the green galahs
So if you tell me Banjo's dead, just say that it's a lie,
He comes from where they breed 'em tough, and Banjo will not die.
They say that Clancy sent him word, he's at the Overflow,
But many more old mates of his, who knew him long ago,
there's a man from Snow River, from Kosciusko side,
Who brought the wild mob in alone, and showed them how to ride.
He's got his mountain pony too, as tough and wirey yet,
As when he chased the brumby mob, the colt from Old Regret.
Another chap, now what's his name, oh, he comes from Ironbark,
He thought the barber cut his throat, and he didn't cop that lark.
All these old mates of his are there, with others on the way,
An' when he got a call from them, how the hell could Banjo stay,
there's Gundagai an' Salt Bush Bill, a rough and rugged pair,
I bet there'll be some fun you know, when Banjo meets them there.
Old trooper Scott is comin' too, to represent the force,
And Andy Reagan or his ghost on Father Riley's horse,
They're makin' for the Overflow, an' when they all arrive,
you'll see that Banjo isn't dead mate, he's very much alive.
They'll hold a racing match of course, you bet yur life they will,
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And there'll be fun with Gundagai and tough old Salt Bush Bill,
Old Parden will be hard to beat, they say he knows the track,
But Swagman Claps will run in close, With Ryan on his back,
And near at hand old Rio Grand is sure to make a claim,
But bold McPherson ridin’ hard, a horseman grim and game,
I see them racing neck an' neck and as they near the post,
Old Fawkin Bella hits the front with Reagan or his ghost.
Old Fawkin Bella hits the front and as they pass the judge,
A yell goes up from uncle Greg, the poor old station grudge
Who with the boy strapped on his back, through swirling floods and foam,
Swam bravely through the pitch black night, to bring the youngster home.
Old Mongrel Grey has beat 'em all, and honest horse and true,
But Clancy glad to see when and so is Banjo too.
Then glasses clink and healths are drunk and many a tale is told,
Of roving days and droving days that never will grow old.
Yes the seasons come, the seasons go and little here abides,
But good old Banjo will not die as long as Clancy Rides,
As long as bushmen love a horse, the wild swan swim on by,
As long as there's a Southern Cross, the Banjo will not die.
So send the joyous news abroad thru Huttons shearing shed,
And tell the bushmen not to grieve, that Banjo is not dead.
Yes tell the bushman not to grieve, for Banjo is not dead.