Lyrics

I am a freeborn man of the traveling people Got no fixed abode, with nomads I am numbered Country lanes and byways are always my way I never fancied being numbered Oh we knew the woods, all the resting places And the small birds sang when wintertime was over Then we'd pack our load and be on the road They were good old times for the rover There was open ground where a man could linger Stay a week or two for time was not your master Then away you'd jog with your horse and dog Easy now, no need to go faster Now and then we'd meet up with other travelers Hear the news or else swap family information At the country fairs, we'd all be meeting there All the people of the traveling nation 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 Winds of change are blowing, old ways are going Your traveling days will soon be over