With pannikins all rusty, and billy burnt and black,
And clothes all torn and dusty, that scarcely hide his 
back;
With sun-cracked saddle-leather, and knotted greenhide 
rein,
His face burnt brown with weather, our Andy's home 
again! 

His unkempt hair is faded with sleeping in the wet,
He's looking old and jaded; but he is hearty yet.
With eyes sunk in their sockets but merry as of yore;
With big cheques in his pockets, hey! our Andy's home 
once more! 

[Instrumental]

Old Uncle's bright and cheerful; he wears a smiling 
face;
Blucher barks for gladness; he broke his rusty chain,
And leapt in joyous madness when Andy came again. 

His toil is nearly over; he'll soon enjoy his gains.
No more he'll be a drover, across the lonely plains.
She oaks stand in ribbons, parked on the hostile rain,
And home by some cool river, he makes his build again.

[Instrumental]

Yeah, the pannikins all rusty, and billy burnt and 
black,
And clothes all torn and dusty, that scarcely hide his 
back;
From where the skies hang lazy on many a northern 
plain,
From regions dim and hazy, hey! our Andy's home again!