I'm a freeborn man of the traveling people
I got no fixed abode, with nomads I am numbered
Country ways and byways were always my ways

I never fancied being lumbered

I knew the woods an' the resting places

Where the small birds sang when winter days were over
Then along the road with my lighty load
These were good old days for the rover


La di-di di la


There were many spots where a man could linger
For a week or two when time was not his master
Then along I'd jog with my horse and dog

Nice and easy, no need to go faster

Come on you freeborn men of the traveling people

Come every tinker, rolling stone, or gypsy rover
The winds of change are blowing, old ways are going
Your rambling days will soon be over