The Rambling Comber

You combers all both great and small
Come listen to my ditty
For it is ye and only ye
Regard my fall with pity
I can read, write, dance and fight
Indeed it's all my honour
My failing is I drink strong beer
I am a rambling comber.

And it's oh my dear I love strong beer
I am a rambling comber.

Now it's on the tramp I'm forced to scamp
My shoes are all a-tatter
My hose unbound all on the ground
I seldom wear a garter
I have a coat - scarce worth a groat
I sadly want another
But it's oh my dear I love strong beer
I am a rambling comber.

I have no watch, I have a patch
On both sides of my breeches
My hat is torn, my wig is worn
My health is all my riches
Oh would I had some giggling lass
My coat all for to border
With straps and bows - I would hold those,
I'd hold them in good order.

A tailor's bill I never fill,
I never do take measure.
I make no debt that doth me let
In taking of my pleasure
Nor will I 'til I grow old
Then must I give it over.
Oh then old age will me engage
For being a rambling comber

A pitcher boy I will employ
While I have cash and credit
I'll ramp and roar and call for score
And I'll pay them when I have it
For this is always in my mind
Let me be drunk or sober
A bowl of punch my thirst to quench
And a quart of old October.

Traditional