Last night as I lay by the roadside
I saw an old traveller roll by
And I wondered what happens to Gypsies
Whenever their time comes to die.

CHO Will there be any travellers in Heaven?
Any pubs where we might get some beer?
Or will it just be the same landlords
Saying 'Sorry, no Gypsies served here'

Will the angel's receive us in glory
And treat us like good, honest men?
Or will they call us poachers and scroungers
And set us to ramble again.

And the Master up there in the heavens -
Will he find us a place to call home -
A place we can work for a living?
Or must we continue to roam.

Will there be any travellers in heaven?
Will there be any place we can stay?
Or will there be policemen and councils
To tell us to be on our way?

Will the giogio be friends with the Gypsy?
Will there be lots of money to spare?
And will there be respect for my children
In the place that we go to up there?

Must the traveller for ever keep moving-
For ever keep moving around?
I am growing so weary of rambling
I long to be under the ground.

Written by the Gypsy Darby Smith