At the mouth of the Foyle bade farewell to the soil
As down below deck we were lying.
O'Doherty screamed, woken out of a dream
Of visions of bold Robert Daniel.
The sun burnt cruel as we dished out the gruel,
Then O'Conner was down with a fever.
Fifty rebels today bound for Botany Bay,
How many will reach their receiver?

Note: I am typing this from memory and may not be 100% accurate. I have no idea who the people are that are mentioned in the verse. The Foyle is the river that flows through Derry city. It's a lovely song! Regards,
Noel P Browne.