Ewan MacColl put it far more eloquently than I could:

O, the gypsy is a gentleman,
And he always knows his place,
He never troubles anyone
And rarely shows his face,
He knows the ways of nature,
He's reticent and shy
And never pesters Gorgios
To sell or yet to buy.

CHORUS:
And the wind is on the heath,
And the heath is far away,
From towns and private property
Where decent people stay.

0, the gypsy is a gentleman
He's happy and content,
He doesn't live in Dorset
Or in Hampshire or in Kent.
His sun is always shining,
His sky is always blue,
He's wise and proud and courteous,
He's loyal, brave and true. (Chorus)

0, the gypsy is a gentleman
And he always tips his hat,
His face is weather-beaten
And he wears a red cravat.
He wanders through the forest
Adding to his gypsy lore,
Or he's leafing through Lavengro
And he's never, ever poor. (Chorus)

0, the gypsy is a gentleman
Give credit where it's due,
He never parks his caravan
Where it can spoil the view.
And if you find a pony
Grazing in your garden plot,
Don't blame the noble gypsy,
But that awful tinker lot. (Chorus)

0, the gypsy is a gentleman,
He keeps well out of sight,
His caravan is picturesque,
It's colourful and bright.
He's full of ancient wisdom and
Of wit he has great store
Not like those thieving Diddies
Who come knocking on the door. (Chorus)

0, the gypsy is a gentleman,
And he plays the violin,
And tinkers and hedge-mumpers,
They are not of his kin.
When you smell the smell of woodsmoke
And the hedgehog in the pot,
You'll find him carving objects d'art,
.... not like that other lot! (Chorus)