| Oh, there’re sober men and plenty
|
| And drunkards barely twenty
|
| There are men of over ninety
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| Who have never yet kissed a girl
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| But give me a ramblin' rover
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| 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
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| From the minute they left the school
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| And they save and scrape and ponder
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| While the rest go out and squander
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| See the world and rove and wander
|
| And are happier as a rule
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| I have roamed through all the nations
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| In delight of all creations
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| And enjoyed a wee sensation
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| Where the company, it was kind
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| And when barkin' was no pleasure
|
| I’ve drunk another measure
|
| To the good friends that were treasure
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| For they always around were mine
|
| If you’re bent with arthritis
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| 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.» |