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

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'm the son of a, son of a, son of a, son of a, son of a gambolier
I'm the son of a, son of a, son of a, son of a, son of a gambolier

I once was tall and handsome and I was so very neat
They thought I was too good to live, most good enough to eat
And 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

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'm the son of a, son of a, son of a, son of a, son of a gambolier
I'm the son of a, son of a, son of a, son of a, son of a gambolier

I'm a rambling rake of poverty from Tippery town I came
My coat I bought from an old  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

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'm the son of a, son of a, son of a, son of a, son of a gambolier
I'm the son of a, son of a, son of a, son of a, son of a gambolier
I'm the son of a, son of a, son of a, son of a, son of a gambolier
I'm the son of a, son of a, son of a, son of a, son of a gambolier