I am 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
Oh I knew the woods and the resting places And the small birds sang when winterdays were over Then we'd pack our load and be on the road Those were good old times for a rover
Now I've known life hard and I've know it easy And I've cursed the life when winter days were dawning But we've laughed and sang through the whole night long Seen the summer sunrise in the morning.
There was open ground where a man could linger For a week or two for time was not our master Then away you'd jog with your 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 Your travelling days will soon be overTeksty umieszczone na naszej stronie są własnością wytwórni, wykonawców, osób mających do nich prawa.
