Saturday, October 10, 2009

Go Home, Girl

You say that you're in love with me, listen to what I say:
You're too young to come with me, I must be on me way!
And stop your silly crying now, how can I make you see,
that I'm a gypsy rover, love, and you'll not come with me.

Go home, girl, go home
Go home

And I met you at the market, when your mum was not with you,
You liked my long brown ringlets and my handkerchief of blue,
And although I'm very fond of you, you asked me home for tea...
but I'm a gypsy rover, love, and you'll not come with me.

And your brother is a peeler, and would lock me up in the jail
if he knew I was a poacher and I hunt your lord's best quail.
Well, your daddy is a gentle man, and your mammy just as grand
But I'm a gypsy rover, love, and I'll not be your man.

Now the hour's drawing on, my love, your mum's expecting thee
Don't tell her that you met me here, or I'm a gypsy free,
And let's get off me jacket now, your love will have to wait
For I am twenty-two years old, and you, you're only eight!!

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M is for Margaret, who was swept out to sea...