| In eighteen o'three we sailed out to sea
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| Out from the sweet town of Derry
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| For Australia bound if we didn't all drown
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| And the marks of our fetters we carried
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| In our rusty iron chains we cried for our weans
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| Our good women we left in sorrow
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| As the mainsails unfurled, our curses we hurled
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| On the English, and thoughts of tomorrow
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| At the mouth of the Foyle, bid farewell to the soil
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| As down below decks we were lying
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| O'Doherty screamed, woken out of a dream
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| By a vision of bold Robert dying
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| The sun burned cruel as we dished out the gruel
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| Dan O'Connor was down with a fever
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| Sixty rebels today bound for Botany Bay
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| How many will meet their reciever
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| Oh... I wish I was back home in Derry
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| Oh... I wish I was back home in Derry
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| I cursed them to hell as her bow fought the swell
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| Our ship danced like a moth in the firelight
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| White horses rode high as the devil passed by
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| Taking souls to Hades by twilight
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| Five weeks out to sea, we were now forty-three
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| We buried our comrades each morning
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| In our own slime we were lost in a time
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| Of endless night without dawning
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| Van Diemen's land is a hell for a man
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| To end out his whole life in slavery
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| Where the climate is raw and the gun makes the law
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| Neither wind nor rain care for bravery
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| Twenty years have gone by, I've ended my bond
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| My comrades ghosts walk behind me
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| A rebel I came - I'm still the same
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| On the cold winters night you will find me |