I'm 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've 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
They were good old times for the rover

In the open ground, you could stop and linger
For 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 we'd meet up with other people
Hear the news or else swap 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 hawking
And I've lain there spent, wrapped 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
I'm 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've never fancied being lumbered