Back in Nov last year, 3 Les Darcy songs were posted to this songbook. Here is an earlier one:

LES DARCY

Way down in Tennessee
There lies poor Les Darcy
His mother's pride and joy
Their Maitland's bonny boy
All I can think of tonight
Is to see Les Darcy fight
How he beats them
Simply eats them
Every Saturday night
And people in galore
Said they never saw
The likes of Les before
Upon the stadium floor
They called him a skater
But he proved to them a fighter
And he gave up hope
When he got that dope
Way down in Tennessee

This is included in Bill Scott's Penguin compilation. It was also collected by Ron Edwards from Pat Murphy in north Queensland and is printed in his big book. Russel Ward published the original words in his 'Penguin Book of Australian Ballads'. Ward believes it was written by 'Percy the Poet' ( real name P.F. Collins) who sold his street ballads in Sydney in the 1920s and 1930s.
Here is Percy's ballad:

THE DEATH OF LES DARCY

In Maitland's cemetery
Lies poor Les Darcy
His mother's pride and joy
Australia's bonny boy
How we long for the night
Just to see Les Darcy fight
How he beat 'em
Simply eat 'em
Every Saturday night

Chorus
There lies young Les Darcy
Who we know was so ill-advised
When the sad news reached us
How the tears stood in our eyes
His one great ambition
Was to fight at the Golden Gate
But the Yanks called him from us
Proved to be the sad hand of fate

The critics by the score
Said they never saw
A lad like him before
Upon the stadium floor
Oh the Yanks thought him a skater
But he proved himself a fighter
So they killed him
Yes, they killed him
In Memphis Tennessee

The belief that Darcy was poisoned by rival fighter was widespread in Australia. There was also a general belief that the Yanks poisoned Phar Lap. Darcy died of pneumonia.

Darcy bio

The tune for the version in Scott's compilation was a popular song of the time. The soldiers of the First AIF also had a parody of the tune which Scott presented alongside the Darcy song.

Down in the old front line
Oh, that won't do for mine
Among the mud and slime
Amidst the slush and grime
All I can think of tonight
Is the parapet so white
Bombs are popping, shells are dropping
No relief in sight
The rum we ought to get
We see no signs of yet
You bet we'll get trench feet
With nothing hot to eat
There's tons of shells to chase us
And no dug-outs to save us
Till we get back, till we get back
Where there's wine and cheer for us

Down in the old front line

--Stewie.