Ned Kelly
Ned Kelly, born 1854
Beveridge was my town
I wasn’t born with a crown.
Irish parents I have,
Dad, a transported convict
told me, when I was a lad.
Dad, with possession of meat,
Without explanation,
Was locked up because
Of legislation.
Six months later
Dad, died,
got on the drink
His liver, he fried.
I was only 12, the oldest boy
Helping my mum
I tried to enjoy.
Mixed up with the wrong crowd
Harry Power, he was loud.
Steve Hart,
was the counterpart.
Receiving a stolen horse
Got me convicted,
Yes of course.
Named an outlaw bushranger
All in town thought, I was a danger.
Mother imprisoned,
I started my gang,
It was on, I’m going out with a bang.
Had a proud moment.
Saved a boy from drowning,
Felt like a king, without the crowning.
Received a green sash for bravery,
the only moment I felt,
I wasn’t in slavery.
As much at home
on his horse
as in his swag
the wounded bushman
was the bushranger
Ned.
Me name is Daniel Morgan
There’s a thousand pounds on me head
Just me and me native lad
We upset the Traps,
the silly chaps,
Gawd strike me dead.
The Traps were camping ,
on the green old lagoon.
Me n Billy shot a few
Had em squealing like a loon,
In New South Wales,
after noon.
Mad Dog Morgan is me name,
Bushranging is me plurry game,
With my pistol you will bail up,
Some say I’m really quite insane,
Some wont give me up,
either?
So they shot me in the throat,
An here I lie a dying,
Cut off me bloody head ,
Gawd strike me dead,
Police desk, me skull, a lying.
Scrotum for tobacco pouch.
For Victoria’s top Policeman,
Pretty prize,
yes dead or alive,
Don’t be sad n blue, a grieving {about 1865)
Don Johnson
This Irish guy had lots of support,
From the ex convict’s n Aussie sports ,
Deported Irish of all sorts
Not really, not surprising!