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Oh, there're sober men in plenty, |
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And drunkards barely twenty, |
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There are men of over ninety |
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That have never yet kissed a girl. |
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But gie me a ramblin' rover, |
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And fae Orkney down to |
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Dover. We will roam the country over |
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And together we'll face the world. |
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There's many that feign enjoyment |
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From merciless employment, |
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Their ambition was this deployment |
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From the minute they left the school. |
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And they save and scrape and ponder |
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While the rest go out and squander, |
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See the world and rove and wander |
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And are happier as a rule. |
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I've roamed through all the nations |
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Ta'en delight in all creation, |
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And I've tried a wee sensation |
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Where the company, did prove kind. |
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And when partin' was no pleasure, |
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I've drunk another measure |
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To the good friends that were treasure |
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For they always are in our minds. |
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If you're bent wi' arth-i-ritis, |
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Your bowels have got colitis, |
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You've gallopin' with bollockitis |
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And you're thinkin' it's time you died, |
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If you been a man of action, |
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Though you're lying there in traction, |
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You will get some satisfaction |
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Thinkin', "Jesus, at least I tried." |
