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    Dubliners - Manchester Rambler

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    thenelaware

    by thenelaware

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    The Dubliners are an Irish folk band founded in 1962, making them one of the older bands that are still performing music presently.

    The Manchester Rambler by The Dubliners
    (LYRICS : Ewan MacColl)

    I've been over Snowdon, I've slept upon Crowdon
    I've camped by the Waynestones as well
    I've sunbathed on Kinder, been burned to a cinder
    And many more things I can tell
    My rucksack has oft been me pillow
    The heather has oft been me bed
    And sooner than part from the mountains
    I think I would rather be dead

    Ch: I'm a rambler, I'm a rambler from Manchester way
    I get all me pleasure the hard moorland way
    I may be a wageslave on Monday
    But I am a free man on Sunday

    The day was just ending and I was descending
    Down Grinesbrook just by Upper Tor
    When a voice cried "Hey you" in the way keepers do
    He'd the worst face that ever I saw
    The things that he said were unpleasant
    In the teeth of his fury I said
    "Sooner than part from the mountains
    I think I would rather be dead"

    He called me a louse and said "Think of the grouse"
    Well i thought, but I still couldn't see
    Why all Kinder Scout and the moors roundabout
    Couldn't take both the poor grouse and me
    He said "All this land is my master's"
    At that I stood shaking my head
    No man has the right to own mountains
    Any more than the deep ocean bed

    I once loved a maid, a spot welder by trade
    She was fair as the Rowan in bloom
    And the bloom of her eye watched the blue Moreland sky
    I wooed her from April to June
    On the day that we should have been married
    I went for a ramble instead
    For sooner than part from the mountains
    I think I would rather be dead

    So I'll walk where I will over mountain and hill
    And I'll lie where the bracken is deep
    I belong to the mountains, the clear running fountains
    Where the grey rocks lie ragged and steep
    I've seen the white hare in the gullys
    And the curlew fly high overhead
    And sooner than part from the mountains
    I think I would rather be dead.