| My name is Jan the gypsy
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| I travel the land.
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| There are no chains about me I am me own man.
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| I can tell a fair old story which I’m sure ain’t no surprise
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| Of the places I have been, oh,
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| And they ain’t no lies.
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| I’ve never had a proper home,
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| Not one like yours is.
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| I’ve nearly always had a caravan
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| With horses.
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| And I know you won’t believe me Though it is the truth to tell
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| That the living it is hard, oh,
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| But it suits me well.
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| I am I traveller of the seas,
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| I am a sailor.
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| The ocean has been good to me,
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| She ain’t no jailor.
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| I can tell a fair old story which I’m sure ain’t no surprise
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| Of the places I have sailed, oh,
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| And they ain’t no lies.
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| I’ve never had a garden,
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| Or a place with windows.
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| I stand upon the salty deck,
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| And feel the wind blow.
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| And I know you won’t believe me Though it is the truth to tell
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| That the living it is hard, oh,
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| But it suits me well.
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| My mother was a fire-eater,
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| 'Fore she desert us.
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| So when I was only seven years old
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| I joined the circus.
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| And I can tell a fair old story which I’m sure ain’t no surprise
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| Of the places we have played, oh,
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| And it ain’t no lies.
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| I’ve never had no money,
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| And no hope to get none.
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| I can always get a penny,
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| When there is good reason.
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| And I know you won’t believe me Though it is the truth to tell
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| That the living it is hard, oh,
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| But it suits me well. |