| A-rovin', oh, a-rovin', oh
|
| I will go a-rovin, oh
|
| The wind may blow
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| And the storm may snow
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| But I will go a-rovin
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| Fare you well my turtledove, it’s time that I was leavin'
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| But I’ll come back this way again, so I hope you’ll not be grievin'
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| And if you ever think on me, I hope it’s with a high degree
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| For I will kindly think on thee when I am on my rovin'
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| A-rovin', oh, a-rovin', oh
|
| I will go a-rovin, oh
|
| The wind may blow
|
| And the storm may snow
|
| But I will go a-rovin
|
| I was born a tinker’s son in the mountains of Killarney
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| I’ve seen the sights of Ireland, boys, from Rathlin down to Blarney
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| Sometimes I sleep upon the ground, or featherbed with eiderdown
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| But only God knows where I’m bound when I’m on my rovin'
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| A-rovin', oh, a-rovin', oh
|
| I will go a-rovin, oh
|
| The wind may blow
|
| And the storm may snow
|
| But I will go a-rovin
|
| I know the pathways through the glens, the country lanes, and byways
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| I’ve tramped the bogs and found my way down rocky roads and highways
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| The rovin' trade must be the best, for when you’re tired you sit and rest
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| And while the sun sets in the west, I will go a-rovin'
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| A-rovin', oh, a-rovin', oh
|
| I will go a-rovin, oh
|
| The wind may blow
|
| And the storm may snow
|
| But I will go a-rovin
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| Now I wouldn’t trade my life at all, for the King of Spain’s own riches
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| I’m happy ramblin' round the hills and jumpin' streams and ditches
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| For when the wine is flowin' free, and I’ve a lassie on my knee
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| There’s not a man content as me, when I am on my rovin'
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| A-rovin', oh, a-rovin', oh
|
| I will go a-rovin, oh
|
| The wind may blow
|
| And the storm may snow
|
| But I will go a-rovin
|
| A-rovin', oh, a-rovin', oh
|
| I will go a-rovin, oh
|
| The wind may blow
|
| And the storm may snow
|
| But I will go a-rovin |