THE SON OF A GAMBOLIER I m a rambling rake of poverty From Tippery town I came. Twas poverty compelled me first, To go out in the rain. In all sorts of weather, Be it wet or be it dry, I m bound to get my livelihood Or lay me down and die. cho: Then combine your humble ditties As from inn to tavern we steer, Like every honest fellow I drinks my lager beer, Like every jolly fellow I takes my whiskey clear, For I m a rambling rake of poverty And the son of a gambolier.
poverty compelled me first, To go out in the rain. In all sorts of weather, Be it wet or
be it dry, I m bound to get my livelihood Or lay me down and die. cho: Then combine your
humble ditties As from inn to tavern we steer, Like every honest fellow I drinks my lager
beer, Like every jolly fellow I takes my whiskey clear, For I m a rambling rake of poverty
And the son of a gambolier.