Lyrics:

I'm a freeborn man of the traveling people
Got no fixed abode, of nomads I am numbered
Country lanes and byways were always my ways
I never fancied being lumbered

I know all the woods, and the resting places
Sure I cursed the life when winter days were dawning
And I'd pack me load and be on the road
They were good old days for the rover

Come all ye freeborn men of the traveling people
Be ye tinker, rolling stone, or gypsy rover
Winds of change are blowing, old ways are going
Your rambling days will soon be over
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