| Eighteen-hundred and eighty-five was the year I remember so well
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| When they drove old Gran to an early grave and sent my mom in jail
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| I don’t know what’s right or wrong but they hung Christ on nails
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| Six kids at home and two on the breast, why they wouldn’t even give her bail
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| Poor Ned, you’re better off dead
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| You get no peace of mind
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| A track’s a trail and they’re hard on your tail
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| Boy, they’re gonna hang you high
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| Poor Ned, you’re better off dead
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| You get no peace of mind
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| A track’s a trail and they’re hard on your tail
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| Boy, they’re gonna hang you high
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| I’d rather die like Donahue, that man, he was so brave
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| Than be taken by the government and forced to walk in chains
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| Well I’d rather fight with all my might while I have eyes to see
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| I’d rather die ten thousand times than hang from the gallow’s tree
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| Poor Ned, you’re better off dead
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| You get no peace of mind
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| A track’s a trail and they’re hard on your tail
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| Boy, they’re gonna hang you high
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| 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
|
| 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
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| Poor Ned, you’re better off dead |