The Travelling People

I'm a freeborn man of the travelling people

got no fixed abode with nomads I am numbered

country lanes and bye ways were always my ways

I never fancied being lumbered

Well we knew the woods and all the resting places

the small birds sang when winter time was over

then we'd pack our load and be on the road

they were good old times for the rover

In the open ground where a man could linger

stay a week or two for time was not your master

then away you'd jog with your horse and dog

nice and easy no need to go faster

And sometimes you'd meet up with other travellers

hear the news or else swop family information

at the country fairs we'd be meeting there

all the people of the travelling nation

I've made willow creels and the heather besoms

And I've even done some begging and some hawkin'

and I've lain there spent rapped up in my tent

and I've listened to the old folks talking

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 over