To the gypsy girl with the runny nose
no shoes or socks o'er the twinkling toes
just a faded dress and an old blue gown
with her dark dark curls a tumbling down
there twer miles of bracken for to run
when days were hard and farmers son
would call to take her oer the moors
to study life and open doors
the trees were tall and the gorse was spread
when tales were told and spirits led
where tractors roamed upon the downs
where fortunes told for king and crown
the gypsy life was rich with lore
with pots to fill and chavvys calls
where king and queen were in their camps
where heathers grew twixt moss so damp
the hills were free with birds and song
where vardos tall did roll along
where fairgrounds sounds would meet your ears
in autumn months throughout the years
where freedom reigned and Romany roamed
through lanes of blossom they called home
where clothes were washed and hung out to dry
beneath those blue rich canford skies
where rich and poor were friends to call
where rabbits ran and foxes chase
the zunners and chavvys played face to face
where no man dared to hide their face