When I be a roamin' o'er yon hills a rollin', no taxin' or tollin', for what have I got?
I nowt but a rover, come drunk or come sober, 'tis how I come over, a rovin's me lot.
Whate'er me endeavours, the nows an' the nevers, in foul or fair weathers, I'll flourish or rot.
'Tis honest the goin' when one's in the knowin', like water a flowin', it flows, does it not?

A meetin' all fellers, them losers, them beggars, the wounded, the lepers, some hungry an' bled.
To tend them in needin', the torn an' the grievin', a pallet come evenin', them needin' a bed.
'Tis rough when the dyin', some ditch where they lyin' but ne'er they denyin' the lives they have led.
What they of possessions but sins an' confessions, yet they of expressions, bequeathin', what said.

Come river or mountain, whate'er needs surmountin', there's no use in countin' your losses an' gains.
For gainin' from nothin' like losin' what's gotten, 'tis done an' forgotten when rests your remains.
'Tis that of a pilgrim to rove into wisdom; the soul of a kingdom in riches an’ pains.
No fences or mortar, no anthem or border, just God an' his order o'er all His terrains.

A rovin's a charmin', the art of disarmin' an' none ye be harmin', in truth, 'tis a joy.
E'en now that I'm older, still darin', e'en bolder, though somewhat the colder when winters deploy.
'Tis all in the makin's, what wearies, what wakens, the givin's an' takin's we build an' destroy.
'Tis nowt but a journey from pram to the gurney; we wait our attorney, the reaper's employ.

In sunshine or thunder you'll find me out yonder, a rovin' in wonder where ne'er I before.
Out there 'tis a learnin', the maestro declarin', come banter or swearin' pay heed to the score.
Find not ye in bother come stranger or brother, greet one as the other in honest rapport.
An' with that in the keepin' when last we'll be meetin', ye'll lay me down sleepin' when rovin' no more.