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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 don? t know what? s right or wrong
But they hung Christ on nails
But with six kids at home and two still on her breast
They wouldn? t even give her bail Oh Ned, you? re better off dead
You get no peace of mind
A track? s a trail
And they? re hot on your tail
Before they? re 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 didn? t wanna kill Kennedy
Or cause his blood to run
Well he alone could have saved his life
By throwing down his gun Well I? d rather die like Donahue
That bush-ranger so brave
Than be taken by the government
And forced to walk in chains
Well I? d rather fight with all my might
While I have eyes to see
Well I? d rather die ten thousand times
Than hang from a gallows tree.
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