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JIM SULLIVAN Toowong, Qld Tune: The Tramp SITE SOURCE: Folklore Unit - People
Willy StoneOh tell it far and wide, the lad we loved has died,His mission on this earth is at an end; My eyes are wet and dim, today I think of him, The one I was so proud to call my friend, Ye jockeys on the turf, in the south-land o'er the surf, In our sorrow and our grieving take a share; Ye sportsmen one and all, regret his fatal fall, The loss of such as he is hard to bear. Chorus With the coffin and the wreath, they have placed him down beneath, And the lilies will be growing on his grave, In the graveyard at Toowong, where the river rolls along, Sleeps Willy Stone, so trusty, true and brave. Oh bosom friend of mine, no other could outshine, Your cleverness of courage in a race, Where silken jackets flash, how gallant would you dash, Courageously through every open space. Left and right and roundabout, “Come on Willy!” they shout, And your horse would feel the steel spur in his side, Then he would do his best, and you would do the rest, And ride as only clever jockeys ride. In the solemn silent bush, in the dreamland of the bush, Where I love to wander night and day, The voices on the breeze come floating through the trees, And this is what the voices seem to say: “Ah, cry not brothers, he is well off, sisters three, Cease grieving for your brother is at rest, Oh father dry that tear, stop weeping mother dear, 'Twas God's decree and He alone knows best. With the coffin and the wreath, they have placed him down beneath, And the lilies will be growing on his grave, In the graveyard at Toowong, where the river rolls along, Sleeps Willy Stone, so trusty, true and brave. |