It’s of the cruel fate of innocent William Habron,
Who was condemned to die for a deed he never done;
For the murder of a Policeman at Whalley Range near Manchester,
He was tried and convicted though not the guilty one,

Upon the day that he was tried he stood by his two brother side:
Altho’ I have been wild he cried, I no one did annoy
But alas he was condemned, and to penal servitude did send,
Innocent William Habron, the poor young Irish boy.

The Government they did agree, to set young William Habron free,
His freedem and his liberty, once more he will enjoy,
And with a kind and welcome hand, when he goes to his native land,
They will receive poor Habron, the innocent Irish boy

They ought to be more careful before they swear mens lives away,
Or take from us our liberty which we so dearly prize,
They do not care or feel the smart of breaking his poor fathers heart,
Who went back to old Ireland in death to close his eyes;

If Charles Peace had not confess’d to releive his guilty breat,
Poor Habron by his sorrow oppres’d his hard fate would bewail,
A dreary life of servitude, in misery and solitude,
Poor William Habron would have lived and died in a gaol.

We know he fervently did pray that he might live to see the day,
When this dark cloud would pass away and the murderer be found,
He’s had to suffer years of pain, although he never did complain,
He only wanted to clear his name to all his friends around.

The evidence it was not clear, but it nearly cost him life so dear,
The gallows to him it seem’d so near he was prepared to die;
Was it not a dreadful shame to brand him with a murderers name,
And send him away from home and friends, in a convict gaol to lie.

No one knows but those who feel the pressure of the tyrants heel,
Which every day and hour reveals in Penal Servitude;
Charles Peace, as you do know, would rather die than he would go,
The gallows did no terrors show, like that fearful Solitude:

Many a man is suffering there, in misery and dark despair,
Who perhaps had never had a share, in what he’s sent there for,
Tis’ hard to be in such a place, & to have the name of such disgrace,
Like innocent William Habron, whose troubles now are o’er.

Charles Peace the burglar done his best to relieve poor Habron so opprest,
The wrong he done he has redress’d and got him free once more,
But the troubles that he has gone through, and the slavery work he’s had to do;
The confinement he’s been subject to, who’s to pay him for,

Sent away on this pretence, of comfort robbed in every sense,
He ought to have some recompence, to fill his heart with joy,
A hundred pounds they should pay down, the people say in every town:
For the cruel false imprisonment, of a poor Irish boy.