Freeborn Man Of The Travelling People. (Ewan MacColl)

I’m a freeborn man of the travelling people
Got no fixed abode with nomads we are numbered
Country lanes and by-ways were always my ways
I never fancied being lumbered.

Oh, we knew the woods and the resting places
And the small birds sang when winter days 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 known it easy
And I’ve cursed the life when winter days are dawning
But we’ve laughed and sung 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 free born men of the travelling people
Every Tinker, Rolling Stone and Gipsy Rover
Winds of change are blowing, old ways are going
Your travelling days will soon be over.

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