Forty Pound Wedding

Well, as I walked down the metal road
With all but forty pounds
Only the bells around my waist
The cut-throats to confound
No sharp-eyed rogue would rob me
No vagabond likewise
And I bet my hide I’ll win my bride with the flashing bright-blue eyes
Well, the first I met was a tinker
With gold rings to sell
Each one cost a tenner
But some looked twice as well
And I said, «That's lucky for me,»
And parted with some cash
To take a golden wedding band
To my deserving lass
Well, as I walked down the metal road
With all but thirty pounds
Only the bells around my waist
The cut-throats to confound
No sharp-eyed rogue would rob me
No vagabond likewise
And I bet my hide I’ll win my bride with the flashing bright-blue eyes
Well, the next I met was a gypsy
She had a yard of Honiton lace
Eyes as brown as berries
With an honest, open face
And I said «That's lucky for me,»
And parted with some cash
To take a beautiful wedding veil
To my deserving lass
Well, as I walked down the metal road
With all but twenty pounds
Only the bells around my waist
The cut-throats to confound
No sharp-eyed rogue would rob me
No vagabond likewise
And I bet my hide I’ll win my bride with the flashing bright-blue eyes
Well, the next I met was an urchin
He had orchids by the score
Blues and reds and yellows
To make the sun feel sore
And I said «That's lucky for me,»
And parted with some cash
To take a rare wedding bouquet
To my deserving lass
Well, as I walked down the metal road
With all but ten pounds
Only the bells around my waist
The cut-throats to confound
No sharp-eyed rogue would rob me
No vagabond likewise
And I bet my hide I’ll win my bride with the flashing bright-blue eyes
Well, the last I met was a farmer
He had a Magnum of champagne
He wanted fifteen guineas
But I clinched it just the same
And I said, «That's lucky for me!
Now we can raise a glass
And drink a sparkling wedding toast
To my deserving lass!»
Well, as Father Reed’s an ignorant man
You can hear him loudly call
«It's a curtain ring on her finger
And her veil’s a gypsy’s shawl
And what a fine bunch of wayside weeds
Fresh-picked from down the lane
And a wedding cup of cider sets us on the road again.»
Well, as I walked down the metal road
With never a weary pound
Only the bells around my waist
The cut-throats to confound
No sharp-eyed rogue would rob me
No vagabond likewise
And I kept my hide and I won my bride with the flashing bright-blue eyes