Collected Poetry by Andrew Barton Paterson

In the good old days when the Army's ways were simple and unrefined, With a stock to keep up their chins in front, and a pigtail down behind, When the only light in the barracks at night was a candle of grease or fat, When they put the extinguisher on the light, they called it the Old Tin Hat.

Now, a very great man is the C. in C., for he is the whole of the show-- The reins and the whip and the driver's hand that maketh the team to go-- But the road he goes is a lonely road, with ever a choice to make, When he comes to a place where the roads divide, which one is the road to take. For there's one road right, and there's one road wrong, uphill, or over the flat, And one road leads to the Temple of Fame, and one to the Old Tin Hat.