His early life was a battle in the jail for a cattle job he'd never done It taught him the law didn't work for the poor of the land And three years locked him in Melbourne's Pentridge Jail Gave him that Ned Kelly brand
You see, the pride of the Kelly's Ned, my son, my son Ride like a Kelly with your head held high And die like a Kelly, Ned, if you must die
Was in the drinks of the trouper staggered up in a stupour and he poured out a tale He swore Ned had jumped him, shot him in the leg, left him for dead And on the word of that sneakin' lyin' hound A man hunt was started for Ned
Could give the slip to the trackers, Ned, my son, my son Go for the gullies where the gums grow high And die like a Kelly, Ned, if you must die
But in the bush of New South Wales a man can disappear And six months passed before they crossed his track An ambush and a gunfight, three troopers lyin' dead For Kelly there was no turnin' back
He sauntered deep into Jerilderie and pulled off a robbery of two thousand pounds He and his men, they were sure they were headin' to hang And all Australians marvelled at the price On the heads of the Ned Kelly gang
Be sure you fight like a Kelly, Ned, my son, my son Fight to the finish with your head held high And die like a Kelly, Ned, when you die
It wasn't a police informer cut the Kelly's down The one who tried it, paid with his life The gang themselves held up a town and settled in to drink Sick of years of robbing and strife
That's where the state troupers found them in the dark and surrounded them in Glenrowan Pub Fifty or more poured shot through the doors and the walls And in the dawn of th