My father is the king of the gypsies 
that is true;
And my mother she has learnt me
some camping to do,
With my pack upon my back I hope
you wish me well,
For I'm just a-going to London some 
fortunes for to tell.

As I was a-walking through 
a fair London street
A handsome young squire 
I chanced for to meet,
He viewed my brown cheeks
and he liked me so well,
He said,"Me little gypsy girl 
can you me fortune tell?"

"Oh yes," I replied, "give me
hold of your hand
For you have got riches
both houses and land,
But all those pretty lassies
you must lay aside,
For it is the little gypsy girl
that's going to be your bride."

The adieu to the meadows 
and to the shady grove,
No more with my sisters 
a-camping will I rove
The bells they shall ring merrily
and sweet the music play,
And will crown the glad tidings
of the gypsy's wedding day.

Oh! once I was a gypsy girl,
but now a squire's bride,
I've servants for to wait on me
and in the carriage ride,
The bells they shall ring merrily 
and sweet the music play,
And will crown the glad tidings 
of the gypsy's wedding day.