Ned Kelly was my son

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