Van Diemen's Land - Barbara Dickson

Come all you gallant poachers that ramble void of care

That walk out on a moonlight night with your dog, your gun, your snare

The hare and lofty pheasant, you have at your command

Not thinking on your last career upon Van Diemen’s Land

Poor Thomas Brown from Nenagh Town, Jack Murphy & poor Joe

Were three determined poachers as the country well does know

By the keepers of the land, my boys, one night they were trepanned

And for fourteen years transported unto Van Diemen’s Land

The first day that we landed upon that fatal shore

The planters came around us there might be twenty score

They ranked us off like horses and they sold us out of hand

And they yoked us to the plough, brave boys, to plough Van Diemen’s Land

The cottages we live in are built with sods of clay

We have rotten straw for bedding but we dare not say them nay

Our cots we fence with wire and we slumber when we can

To keep the wolves and tigers from us in Van Diemen’s Land

Oft times when I do slumber, I have a pleasant dream

With my sweetheart sitting near me, close by a purling stream

I am roaming through old Ireland with my true love by the hand

But awaken, broken hearted, upon Van Diemen’s Land

Oh, if I had a thousand pounds, all laid out in my hand

I’d give it all for liberty if that I could command

Again to Ireland I’d return and be a happy man

And bid farewell to poaching and to Van Diemen’s Land