Well I'm a freeborn man of the travelling people,
Got no fixed abode, with nomads I have wondered,
Country lanes and byways were always my way,
Well I never fancied being lumbered.

Well we knew the woods and the resting places,
And the small birds sang when winter time was over,
Then we'd pack our load and be on the road,
Those were good old days for the rover.

Well there are open roads, where a man can lay and gather,
For a week or two, for time was not your master,
Then along we'd jog with a horse and dog,
Nice and easy, no need to go faster.

Well I've known life hard and I've known life easy,
And I've cursed the life when winter days were dawning,
But I've laughed and sung through the whole night long,
Seen the summer sunrise in the morning.

Well 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.

Well I'm a freeborn man of the travelling people,
Got no fixed abode, with nomads I have wondered,
Country lanes and byways were always my way,
I never fancied being lumbered,
I never fancied being lumbered.