|1: Come aa ye jolly poacher boys that ramble void of care,
That do go out on a moonlit night with your gun, your dog, your snare;
The harmless hare and pheasant you have at your command,
Never thinking on your last career upon Fan Dyman’s Land.
2: There was poor Jock Brown from Glasgow town, Will Guthrie and wee John,
They were three of the loyalest comrades that ever the sun shone on;
The keeper caught then hunting with gun and snare in hand,
They were fourteen years transported boys upon Fan Dyman’s Land.
3: O once I had a sweetheart, Jean Summers was her name,
They tried her down in Dundee town for the selling of the game;
The captain he fell in love with her, he married her out of hand,
Ah, but she was more than good to us upon Fan Dyman’s Land.
4: Now the place that we’d tae land upon was on some foreign shore,
The settlers thay gathered around us boys, five thousand there or more;
They herded us like cattle, they sold us out of hand,
And they yoked us up like horses boys to plough Fan Dyman’s Land.
5: And the houses that we dwell within were made of clod and clay,
With rotten straw to lay upon, no better by night nor day;
Around the camp we keep close watch, we slumber when we can,
And we fight the wolves and tigers boys upon Fan Dyman’s Land.
6: One night as I lay sleeping I had a sad old dream,
I dreamt I was back in Scotland beside a flowing stream;
And by my side a fair young lass, and her at my command,
But when I awoke, my poor heart broke, I was on Fan Dyman’s Land.
7: So come aa ye jolly poacher boys and a warning take by me,
It’s never go a-hunting for it is against the law,
It’s never go a-huntin with gun or snare in hand,
Or you will find yourself in the place they call Fan Dyman’s Land.