| Don’t say that you’re in love with me
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| Listen to what I say
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| You’re too young to come with me
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| I must be on me way
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| And stop your silly crying, love
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| How can I make you see
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| That I’m a gypsy rover, love
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| And you’ll not come with me
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| Go home, girl, go home
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| Go home
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| And I met you at the market
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| When your mam was not with you
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| You liked me long brown ringlets
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| And me handkerchief of blue
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| And although I’m very fond of you
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| You asked me home to tea
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| But I’m a gypsy rover, love
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| And you’ll not come with me
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| Go home, girl, go home
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| Go home
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| And your brother is a peeler
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| And would lock me up in the jail
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| If he knew I was a poacher
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| And I hunt your lord’s best quail
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| Well your daddy is a gentleman
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| Your mammy just as grand
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| But I’m a gypsy rover, love
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| And I’ll not be your man
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| Go home, girl, go home
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| Go home
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| Well the hour’s drawing long, my love
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| Your mam’s expecting thee
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| Don’t tell her that you met me here
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| Or I’m a gypsy free
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| And let’s get off me jacket now
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| Your love will have to wait
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| For I am twenty-two years old
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| And you, you’re only eight
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| Go home, girl, go home
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| Go home |