The Manchester Rambler

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 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 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»
I’m a rambler, I’m a rambler from Manchester way
I get all my pleasure the hard moorland way
I may be a wageslave on Monday
But I am a free man on Sunday
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’m a rambler, I’m a rambler from Manchester way
I get all my pleasure the hard moorland way
I may be a wageslave on Monday
But I am a free man on Sunday
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