The Son of a Gambolier
I'm a rambling rake of poverty
From Tippery town I came.
'Twas poverty compelled me first,
To go out in the rain;
In all sorts of weather,
Be it wet or be it dry,
I'm bound to get my livelihood
Or lay me down and die.
cho: Then combine your humble ditties
As from inn to tavern we steer,
Like every honest fellow
I drinks my lager beer,
Like every jolly fellow
I takes my whiskey clear,
For I'm a rambling rake of poverty
And the son of a gambolier.
I once was tall and handsome,
And was so very neat,
They thought I was too good to live,
Most good enough to eat;
But now I'm old, my coat is torn,
And poverty holds me fast,
And every girl turns up her nose,
As I go wandering past.
I'm a rambling rake of poverty,
From Tippery town I came,
My coat I bought from an old Jew shop,
Way down in Maiden Lane;
My hat I got from a sailor lad
Just eighteen years ago,
And my shoes I picked from an old dust heap
Which every one shunned but me.
from Pious Friends and Drunken Companions, Shay
Note: Best known in college version as Rambling Wreck from
Georgia Tech etc. RG