Through the winding tracks in Otago steep
Where turquoise rivers thrash and churn
Like The Mighty Clutha and the Kirtle burn
The pioneer Scots hacked many a path
And grimed soaked miners for gold could bath
In those chilly pools to scrub arm ‘n leg
Then off to the pub to meet Roaring Meg
She was full she was loud she was fiery and red
A Scot in full bloom when she’s cracking a head
If yer finger’s been strayin or you won’t pay yer bill
If ya tried to be sly with your hands in the till
She’d be watching you out of the sides of her eyes
Don’t be Cheatin’ at dice or stringing her lies
I’ve seen huge men shiver and snivel and beg
With a frying pan whacking from Roaring Meg
It’s said she was Maggie, a Brennan she’d wed
Got tired of the fog, and the sleet Oh Mammie she said
There’s gold in those hills! There’s prospectors there
They’re blind rich and crazy and I’m so keen to share
All the rollicking ballads in that rowdy saloon
Filled with gold dust and nuggets in the dank smoky room
Kirtleburn Hotel was the claim she would peg
The turbulent voluble Roaring Meg
Contrary as the weather ,and fearsome as the flood
There was fire in her veins, there was war in her blood
She could bellow an anthem to the wretched who’d brave
Those canyons, dark rapids, to their panning a slave
The gleam in the stream, there’s a flash in the pan
The Motherlode Boys, down to Maggie they ran
The next rounds on me lads! crack open the keg!
Bring Whiskey, Bring Beer Bring it all Roaring Meg!
She was Larger than Life, she could spin a good yarn
She could muster the cattle, on her own build a barn
But Her cookin’ wuz awful but who would complain
If she caught you cussin’, you might not see again
Her temper was fearsome, her tongue could be fire
But her heart beat with passion and a raging desire
She fed all those vagrants, bread, haggis and egg
She served up a right storm did our Roaring Meg
She went out to draw water when the sky burst asunder
A cataract roared, and a terrifying thunder
Aye, She ne’er returned, an’ she’s ne’er bin found
Then the gold seam dried up and the diggers left town
now that flood’s carved a canyon for a powerhouse falls
That turns on the lights in a thousand dark halls
It’s her ghost, laddie! Sing! ‘Fore ye swallow yer dreg
Raise a cold glass of Speight’s for our dear Roaring Meg!
