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    Eighteen hundred and eighty five

    Is a year I remember so well

    When they drove old brad into an early grave

    And sent my mother to jail

    Now I dont know whats right or wrong

    But they hung christ on nails

    But with six kids at home and two still on her breast

    They wouldnt even give her bail


    Oh ned, youre better off dead

    You get no peace of mind

    A tracks a trail

    And theyre hot on your tail

    Before theyre gonna hang you high

    I did write a letter

    And I sealed it with my hand

    Tried to tell about stringy bog creek

    And tried to make them understand

    Oh, that I didnt wanna kill kennedy

    Or cause his blood to run

    Well he alone could have saved his life

    By throwing down his gun


    Well Id rather die like donahue

    That bush-ranger so brave

    Than be taken by the government

    And forced to walk in chains

    Well Id rather fight with all my might

    While I have eyes to see

    Well Id rather die ten thousand times

    Than hang from a gallows tree.


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