I've sung of the wattle
Since long, long ago;
But a song to the bottle
Is the song that I owe —
An ode to a bottle,
And I ought to know.

I've carried it home
On nights dark and wild,
Hugged close to my bosom,
Like a mother her child.
I've fought for it raging
And fought for it mild.

I've stuck to it empty,
When friends were in vain,
Till I had the tray bit
To fill it again.
And it stuck to me
In sunshine and rain.

I've sung of the wattle
Since long, long ago;
But a song to the bottle
Is the song that I owe —
An ode to a bottle,
And I ought to know.