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