| The old ways are changing, you cannot deny
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| The day of the traveler is over
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| There’s nowhere to go and there’s nowhere to bide
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| So farewell to the life of the rover
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| Goodbye to the tent and the old caravan
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| To the tinker, the gypsy, the traveling man
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| And goodbye to the thirty foot trailer
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| Farewell to the can’t and the Romany tongue
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| Farewell to the Romany talking
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| The buying and the selling, the old fortune telling
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| The knock on the door and the hawking
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| Farewell to the besoms of heather and bloom
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| Farewell to the creels and the basket
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| The folks of today, they would far sooner pay
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| For a thing that’s been made out of plastic
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| The old ways are passing and soon will be gone
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| For progress is aye a big factor
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| It’s sent to afflict us and when they evict us
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| They’ll tow us away with a tractor
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| Farewell to the pony, the cob, and the mare
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| The reins and the harness are idle
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| You don’t need a strap when you’re breaking up scrap
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| So farewell to the bit and the bridle
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| Farewell to the fields where we’ve sweated and toiled
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| At pullin' and crownin' and liftin'
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| They’ll soon have machines and the traveling queens
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| And their menfolk had better be shiftin'
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| You’ve got to move fast to keep up with the times
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| For these days a man cannot dander
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| There’s a bylaw to say you must be on your way
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| And another to say you can’t wander |