Conroy's Gap by Andrew Barton Paterson — Read

This was the way of it, don't you know -- / Ryan was 'wanted' for stealing sheep, / And never a trooper, high or low, / Could find him -- catch a weasel asleep! / Till Trooper Scott, from the Stockman's Ford -- / A bushman, too, as I've heard them tell -- / Chanced to find him drunk as a lord / Round at the Shadow of Death Hotel.

D'you know the place? It's a wayside inn, / A low grog-shanty -- a bushman trap, / Hiding away in its shame and sin / Under the shelter of Conroy's Gap -- / Under the shade of that frowning range, / The roughest crowd that ever drew breath -- / Thieves and rowdies, uncouth and strange, / Were mustered round at the Shadow of Death.