"Song: Freeborn Man of the Traveling People" Lyrics

I am a freeborn man of the traveling people
Got no fixed abode, were no man is your master
Country lanes and byways where always my ways
I Never fancied being lumbered

In the open field you could stop and linger
And the small birds sang when wintertime was over
Then you'd pack your load and be on the road
They were good old times for the rover

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 peoples of the traveling nation

I made willow creels and the heather besom
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 folk talking

All you freeborn men of the traveling people
Every tinker, rolling stone, or gypsy rover
Winds of change are blowing, old ways are going
Your traveling days will soon be over

I am a freeborn man of the traveling people
Got no fixed abode, where no man is your master
Country lanes and byways were always my ways
I Never fancied going faster

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