"Rakes Of Poverty" lyrics

Oh, come all ye rambling fellas
Oh, from town to town I steer
Like many's the honest fellow
Oh, we do drink a pint of beer
Like many's the honest fellow
Oh, we do drink me whiskey clear
And I'm the rambling rakes of poverty
I'm the son of a gambaleer

Oh, the auld cap that I'm wearing now
I paid two pence for it
When I go out on Sunday, sure
All they say is I got it fit
When I go out on Sunday, sure
All they say, I do look grand
And I sit up at the head of the table
Like any other old gentleman

Oh, the auld coat that I'm wearing now
Comes from that charity store
When it happens to get wet
Oh, I hang it upon the floor
When it does be dry again
Oh, I lift it and put it on
And you'd say I'm a duke or a lord or a knight
Not the son of gambling man

Oh, the auld boots that I'm wearing now
Come from the Crimee war
Where I got them off a soldier lad
And he died of wounds and scars
The tongues has given up on them
And the soles have gone back to sea
And the toes have turned up with the roses
With the rakes of poverty

Oh, come all of you rambling fellas
Oh, from town to town I steer
Like many's the honest fellow
Oh, we do drink me whiskey clear
Like many's the honest fellow
Oh, I do drink a pint of beer
And I'm the rambling rakes of poverty
I'm the son of a gambaleer