| My name it is Sam Jenkins
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| I come from old Whittington Hill
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| My people bow their heads down
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| To the lord of the manor still
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| I grew up mean and hungry
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| Dirty and poor and sick
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| I tried my for not to steal
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| To afraid of the VAn Diemon ships
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| Well, the only road to money
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| It was the road to the army gates
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| I took that road in '45
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| With a gang of my Staffordshire mates
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| We were shipped across to Ireland
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| Some rebellions for to quell
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| Stationed north of Galway
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| In a landscape that mirrored hell
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| When we sailed into Galway
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| Before my hair got dry
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| I will never forget the skeletons
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| With a crazed look in their eyes
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| And their little children wailing
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| As hunger ate them alive
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| When I realized what I was doing there
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| With the shame I nearly died
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| The food removal regiments
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| We were there to guard the food
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| Being shipped each day to England
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| While the starving they were subdued
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| They said we needed the food more
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| For our hungry boys abroad
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| And the Irish apes who farmed it
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| They weren’t men in the eyes of the Lord
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| My dear friend Billy Cooper
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| He couldn’t console himself
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| From a cherry tree in the backfield
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| He was hanging by his belt
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| In the 41st foot regiment
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| Just north of Galway town
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| I felt myself the servant
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| Of a devil in a crown
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| I disobeyed an order
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| I refused to shoot a man
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| Now stripped of my gun and uniform
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| I am bound for Van Diemons land
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| You rogues who rule Britannia
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| May you burn in hell for good
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| Us poor we do your dirty work
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| Then you dine on our flesh and blood
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| All the lies, all of our lives
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| All the pain, abuse and shame
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| Tell the truth to the youth
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| And forgive, but never forget
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| Forgive, but never forget
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| All the lies, all of our lives
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| All the pain, tears like rain
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| Tell the truth to the youth
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| And forgive, but never forget
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| Forgive, but never forget |