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The Son of a Gambolier 
The Son of a Gambolier 
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. 
cho: 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 once was tall and handsome, And was so very neat, They thought I was too good to live, Most good enough to eat; But 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. 
I'm a rambling rake of poverty, From Tippery town I came, My coat I bought from an old Jew 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. 
from Pious Friends and Drunken Companions, Shay Note: Best known in college version as Rambling Wreck from Georgia Tech etc. RG