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I'm a freeborn man of the travelling people
Got no fixed abode with nomads I am numbered
Country lanes and byways were always my ways
I never fancied being lumbered

In the open ground we could stop and linger
For a month or two for time was not our master
Then we'd pack our load and be on the road
Nice and easy no need to go faster

Oh, we knew the woods and the resting places
And the small birds sang when winter time was over
Then I'd jog with my horse and dog
Nice and easy no need to go faster

All you freeborn men of the travelling people
Every tinker, rolling stone and gypsy rover
Winds of change are blowing old ways are going
Our travelling days will soon be over

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