Come all you gallant poachers,
That ramble void of care,
That walk out on a moonlight night
With your dog, your gun and snare.
The harmless hare and pheasant
You have at your command,
Not thinkin' of your last career
Upon Van Dieman's land.
Twas poor Jock Brown frae Glesca,
Will Guthrie and Munro,
We were four daring poachers,
The country well did know;
By the keepers of the land, my boys,
One night we were trepanned,
And for fourteen years transported
Unto Van Dieman's land.
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