When I was a young man I burned my toes
Now I have no chairs to sit on
When I was a young man I raised my fields
Now I have no fruit to suck on
They say I am a sick old man
See my sick old frame
Smell my death as I pass by you
My sick old wife she ends in life
Waving at the old front door
Giving off a wisdom that she never had never had never had before
Oh what care I fair this very well
Blankets turn so gravy oh
Tonight I’ll sleep in the cold open fields in the arms of the raggle taggle gypsys oh
Raggy raggid rags all about our door
She’s gone with the raggle taggle gypsys oh
When I was a young man I ground my knives
Now I have no friends to call on
When I was a young man I cracked my eyes
Now I have sharp glass to crawl on
Oh the days of wealth and needs
When I had dark oil for burning
Oh I was a young man with my golden pipe.
And now I am too sick for learning
And I will blame the wonderer, I will blame the poor
I will blame the raggid man knocking at my door
I’ll blame his wife and raggid children crying at my feet
And send them into yarhools wood my vengeance there vengeance there vengeance there to eat
Oh what care I fair this very well
Blankets turn so gravy oh
Tonight I’ll sleep in the cold open fields in the arms of the raggle taggle gypsys oh
Gone with the raggle taggle gypsys oh
Gone with the raggle taggle gypsys oh
Gone with the raggle taggle gypsys oh
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Lyrics submitted by Joel Questle.