The Manchester Rambler The Dubliners

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I've been over Snowdon
I've slept up on Crowdown
I've camped by the Winston's as well
I've sun bathed on Kinder
Been burned to a cinder
And many more things I can tell
My rucksack has oft' been my pillow
The heather has oft' been my bed
And sooner than part from the mountains
I think I would rather be dead

I'm a rambler, I'm a rambler
From Manchester way
I get all my pleasure the hard moorland way
I may be a wage-slave on Monday
But I am a free man on Sunday

The day was just ending
As I was descending
Near Grindsbrook just by Upper-Tore
When a voice cried, "Hey You"
In the way keepers do
He'd the worst face that I ever saw
The things that he cried were unpleasant
I the teeth of his fury I said
Sooner then part from the mountains
I think I would rather be dead