Come all you gallant poachers who ramble void of care
That wander out on moonlit nights with your dog and gun and snare
Oh the hare and lofty pheasant you will have at your command
Not thinking on your last career spent on Van Diemen's Land

Young Thomas Brown from Nenagh town Jack Murphy and poor Joe
Were three determined poachers a country well did know
By the keeper of the game one night brave boys they were trepanned
And straightaway transported unto Van Diemen's Land
And the first day that we landed there upon that fatal shore
The planters gathered around us, there might be twenty score
And They ranked us off like horses and sold us out of hand
And they yoked us to the plough, brave boys
For to plough Van Diemen's Land


Now the cottages that we live in
are made of sods of earth
We have rotten straw for bedding but we dare not say a word
And we ring our huts with fire ring, and slumber while we can
For to keep at bay those beasts of prey
That prowl Van Diemen's Land


God bless our wives and families, likewise that happy shore
That isle of sweet contentment which we shall see no more
As for those wretched females, see them we seldom can
There are fourteen men to every woman
on Van Diemen's Land


And oft times when I'm slumbering I'll have a pleasant dream
I am sitting by the cool green grass down by a burling stream
Or I am rambling through the meadow fair
my sweetheart by the hand
I awaken broken hearted still on Van Diemen's Land


For fourteen years is a long long time and that's our sentence run
For nothing more than poaching is all I've ever done
And you'd give up both your dog and gun and poaching every man,
if you'd only known the hardships upon Van Diemen's land


By chance I had five hundred pounds laid out in my hand
I'd give it all up for poaching that I could command
Then I'd return to Erin's Isle and be a happy man
And I'd bid farewell to poaching likewise Van Diemen's Land