As friendless and sadly I roam.
It is tramp, tramp along though I’m weary;
To rest through the long, long day;
Through the rain and the snow I must tramp to and fro,
For it’s the poor tramp’s way.
How I long for a place by the fireside,
When the night it is cold, chill and damp;
Vacant places I see, but there’s no room for me,
For I’m only a poor old tramp.