old paddy was a gypsy and he came from liverpool
he strummed the songs of Dylan from bovington to poole
old paddy wore along coat and grew his hair so long
he slept out in the open and his songs went on and on
old paddy was a gypsy a roving all the day
he walked the hills of purbeck and watched the lambs at play
old paddy he was irish rich and dark and true
he had the gypsy life blood and he came from liverpool
old paddy joined with our gang when we slept out on the moors
underneath the heavens where the starlight changed us all
old paddy was a rover and a gypsy through and through
he had no real belongings and just one pair of dark black shoes
old paddy sang at breakfast beneath the old oak tree
he strummed his guitar there daily and crooned away our blues
old paddy he was handsome and caught the ladies eyes
he twinkled in the starlit and his words were old and wise
old paddy he was gypsy and walked the gypsy trails
his anthems they were scouser tales and his visions they were wise
he talked with us that summer than in autumn he was gone
like the springtime flowers blooming and the thrush with his sweet song