It was a mighty snug resort, that Sydney-side hotel:
A snug resort where fellows dined 'not wisely, but too well';
The boarders all had gone to bed, and other men departed,
When Pat suggested to his pal 'twas nearly time they started.

They drifted to the closing bar, and asked the sleepy waiter
For two cigars,to light 'em home before the hour grew later;
Pat lit his; while his chum exclaimed, 'Ole chappie, gimme light!
I don't know how you're feeling, but I'm very, very tight!'

... Tis very hard to get a light'-he lurched against the bar,
And most appealingly remarked 'Which is the right cigar?
'Tis difficult to fix it; you guess, p'r'aps, what I mean;
I know you're only smoking one, but I can see fifteen!'

More verses by Harry 'Breaker' Harbord Morant