In 1803 we sailed out to sea, out from the sweet town of Derry.
For Australia bound, if we didn't all drown, the marks of our fatters we'd carry.
In our rusty iron chains we cried for our wins, our good women we laughed in sorrow.
As the midsail unfurled, and curses we hurled, on the English in thoughts of tomorrow.
Oh, I wish I was back home in Derry.
At the mouth of the foil, said goodbye to the soil, as down below Dax we were lying.
Old Aberdeen screamed, woken out of a dream, by a vision of old Robert dying.
The sun burnt cruel, as they dished out the gloom, Don O'Connor was down with the fever.
Sixty rebels today bound for Botany Bay, and many will reach the receiver.
Oh, I wish I was back home in Derry.
Oh, I wish I was back home in Derry.
I cursed them to hell, as our bow fought the swell, a ship danced like a moth in the firelight.
White horses rode high, as the devil passed by, taking souls to Hades by twilight.
Five weeks out to sea, we were now forty-three, we buried our comrades each morning.
In our own slime we were lost in the town, endless nights without dawning.
Oh, I wish I was back home in Derry.
Van Diemen's land is a hell for a man, to end out his whole life in slavery.
For the climate is raw, and the gun makes the law, neither wind or rain care for bravery.
Twenty years have gone by, I've ended my bond, my comrades ghost-walk behind me.
Rebel I came, I am still the same, on a cold winter's night you will find me.
Oh, I wish I was back home in Derry.
Oh, I wish I was back home in Derry.
Oh, I wish I was back home in Derry.