| Oh, there’re sober men and plenty | 
| And drunkards barely twenty | 
| There are men of over ninety | 
| Who have never yet kissed a girl | 
| But give me a ramblin' rover | 
| From Orkney down to Dover | 
| We will roam the country over | 
| And together we’ll face the world | 
| There’s many that feign enjoyment | 
| From merciless employment | 
| Their ambition was this deployment | 
| From the minute they left the school | 
| And they save and scrape and ponder | 
| While the rest go out and squander | 
| See the world and rove and wander | 
| And are happier as a rule | 
| I have roamed through all the nations | 
| In delight of all creations | 
| And enjoyed a wee sensation | 
| Where the company, it was kind | 
| And when barkin' was no pleasure | 
| I’ve drunk another measure | 
| To the good friends that were treasure | 
| For they always around were mine | 
| If you’re bent with arthritis | 
| Your bowels have got Colitis | 
| You’re gallopin' with balacitis | 
| And you’re thinkin' it’s time you died | 
| If you been a man of action | 
| Though you’re lying there in traction | 
| You will get some satisfaction | 
| Thinkin', «Jesus, at least I tried.» |