I went looking for the gypsies
down some old winding country lane
way out in the outback
where few folks goes again
i took some notes to read there
a guitar for to play
far out in the heather land
many miles away
the rain it was a falling
the wind it blew a gale
there were shadows on the rocks and hills
goldfish in a jar
i heard the wind a playing
same sad old gypsy song
way back in my memory
from the days that long since gone
i strolled o'er all the footpaths
where the gypsy folks had been
stumbled on a few tin cans
plus a empty jar of gin
i saw traces of their footprints
horses hooves and more
dirt cart tracks where love had rolled
where young men went to war
i counted all my blessings
granted all my hopes
squandered all my dreams on nowt
but women and rolled dope
the gypsy maiden comforted me
with that look within her eyes
as she rubbed that fortune tellers glass
then looked into my palms
the stories i could tell you
would turn the other cheek
with laughter and good living
they got by week to week
i can still see all their wagons
as if twer yesterday
like a big wheel on the fairground
you could hear that Ferris play
the gypsy folk were noble
with Romany roving eyes
they traveled on the freeway
had no stately ties
i can hear the wind a blowing way out on the heaths
where the gypsy folks lay sleeping and the warbler chirped in reach
i can feel the mood that moved them as they lay their in their beds
underneath the blanket night where the stars shone overhead