GYPSY WAY
it's just the Gypsy Way
he told me - serious
and grave - no smile...
they'll take things from ya
while you're lookin'
straight on at em
all the while...
their dirt will rub off
on your coat like oil
and tar and filthy stuff
cuz they don't wash or
wash their kids -
you'll find they'll
treat ya real rough...
an' when you think
you're bein' kind ta
give them stuff
ya think is good:
they spit on it and look
real black and not be
thankful as they should...
an' they live where it's
trees and hidden -
an they live right out
on our grass - in
caravans of trucks and
wagons - horses - filled with
junk that canna' last...
ah, I hate them gypsies, lad,
I hate them cuz they be
too free - they live off
all our work and hardships -
they're not a'tall
like you nor me...
but still sometimes I
hear em singin'
round their fires
like of old...it's then
I'm thinkin' I could
join em - if I was
a bit more bold....
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