| The old ways are changing, you cannot deny
|
| The day of the traveller is over
|
| There is nowhere to go and there is nowhere to buy
|
| So farewell to the life of the rover
|
| Farewell to the tent and the old caravan
|
| To the tinker, the gipsy, the travelling man
|
| Farewell to the life of the rover
|
| Farewell to the ken and the travelling tongue
|
| Farewell to the romany talking
|
| The buying and selling, the old fortune telling
|
| The knock at the door and the hawking
|
| Farewell to the besom of heather and broom
|
| Farewell to the creel and the basket
|
| The folks of today, they would far soon and pay
|
| For a thing that’s been made out of plastic
|
| Farewell to the tent. |
| .
|
| Farewell to the fields where we sweated and toiled
|
| The pulling and crowning and lifting
|
| They’ll soon have machines and the travelling queens
|
| And there manfolks can better be shifting
|
| Farewell to the tent. |
| .
|
| The old ways are passing and soon will be gone
|
| For progress is eye a big factor
|
| It’s scent to afflict us and when they avict us
|
| They tow us away with a tractor
|
| You’ve got to move fast to keep up with the times
|
| For these days a man cannot donder
|
| There’s a buy-lord to say you must be on your way
|
| And another to say you can’t wander
|
| Farewell to the tent. |
| . |