Poor Ned

Trevor Lucas

   

Poor Ned, You’re better off dead.

You get no peace of mind

Traps are trailing – they’re hot on your trail

Boy, they’re going to hang you high

   

Eighteen hundred and seventy eight was a year I remember so well

They drove poor granny to an early grave and they sent my mother to jail

Now I don’t know what’s right or wrong but they hung Christ on nails

Six kids at home and two still on her breast, they wouldn’t even give her bail

   

Now I did white a letter and I sealed it with my hand

Tried to tell about Stringybark creek and tried to make them understand

That I didn’t want to kill Kennedy or cause his blood to run

He alone could have saved his life by throwing down his gun

   

I’d rather die like Donohue, that bushranger so brave

Than be taken by the government and forced to walk in chains

I’d rather fight with all my might while I have eyes to see

I’d rather die ten thousand times than hang from the gallows tree