Oh here is a story of poor Jack O'Connor
And the tale that surrounds his untimely demise
Submitted in fact as just one like example
Of such grusome history Read Island's comprised Oh the wind weathered rocks on the coast of Read Island
Guard over the mysteries of her own tragic lore
For it's said to this day that the ghosts of Read Island
Appear in the mist of her desolate shores Jack Myers was a blackheart, a thief and a braggart
Who sold stolen whiskey from his sloop in the bay
When Tayor camp loggers bought up twenty-six bottles
Little they knew what a price would be payed After a weekend of two fisted drinking
Jack Myers ran amok with an old forty-four
O'er a wager turned sour, on Monday's wee hours
Poor Jack O'Connor lay dead on the floor Oh the wind weathered rocks on the coast of Read Island
Guard over the mysteries of her own tragic lore
For it's said to this day that the ghosts of Read Island
Appear in the mist of her desolate shores A magistrate came, Michael Manson by name
Who, along with Fred Hussey would perform the inquest
Those who witnessed the act testified to facts
And a warrant was issued for Jack Myers arrest A posse was sworn and with posted reward
They sailed from Nanaimo on the "Joan" and "Estelle"
When at last they found Myers hold up in Bute Inlet
They brought him for trial, his story to tell The arm of the law is both strong and far reaching
Though he swore self defense, at the end of the day
Jack Myers was sentenced to a long life in prison
For killing O'Connor in a blind drunken rage Oh the wind weathered rocks on the coast of Read Island
Guard over the mysteries of her own tragic lore
For it's said to this day that the ghosts of Read Island
Appear in the mist of her desolate shores | 
