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



Chorus 

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



Chorus



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 gallow's tree.



Chorus