(Words and Music by Bob Stone)

I was born in the wagon of a travellin´ show 
My mama used to dance for the money they´d throw 
Papa would do whatever he could 
Preach a little gospel, sell a couple bottles of Doctor Good 

CHORUS 
Gypsys, tramps, and thieves 
We´d hear it from the people of the town 
They´d call us Gypsys, tramps, and thieves 
But every night all the men would come around 
And lay their money down 

Picked up a boy just south of Mobile 
Gave him a ride, filled him with a hot meal 
I was sixteen, he was twenty-one 
Rode with us to Memphis 
And papa woulda shot him if he knew what he´d done 

CHORUS 

I never had schoolin´ but he taught me well 
With his smooth southern style 
Three months later I´m a gal in trouble 
And I haven´t seen him for a while, uh-huh 
I haven´t seen him for a while, uh-huh 

She was born in the wagon of a travellin´ show 
Her mama had to dance for the money they´d throw 
Grandpa´d do whatever he could 
Preach a little gospel, sell a couple bottles of Doctor Good