Eighteen-hundred and eighty-five was the year I remember so well
When they drove old Gran to an early grave and sent my mom in jail
I don't know what's right or wrong but they hung Christ on nails
Six kids at home and two on the breast, why they wouldn't even give her bail
Poor Ned, you're better off dead
You get no peace of mind
A track's a trail and they're hard on your tail
Boy, they're gonna hang you high
I did write a letter and sealed it with my hand
Tried to tell about Stringy Bog Creek, I tried to make 'em understand
I didn't wanna k** Kennedy or cause his blood to run
Well he alone could have saved his life by dropping down his gun
Poor Ned, you're better off dead
You get no peace of mind
A track's a trail and they're hard on your tail
Boy, they're gonna hang you high
I'd rather die like Donahue, that man, he was 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
I'd rather die ten thousand times than hang from the gallow's tree
Poor Ned, you're better off dead
You get no peace of mind
A track's a trail and they're hard on your tail
Boy, they're gonna hang you high