Working nine to five to keep alive
I’m a wage slave all week long
My boss Jack he’s always on my back
He’s always right and I’m always wrong
But on a Friday night it all comes right
I take off my ball and chain
In my caravan I’m a travelling man
I hit the road again.
Chorus:
I’m a weekend gypsy and I’m gonna get tipsy
On the sweet old country air
In my caravan I’m a travelling man
In the world I haven’t got any care.
I don’t cook meat by an old wood fire
I’ve got bottled gas
And my old horse is a Ford of course
And he don’t eat no grass
I’ve got a fridge, a shower, at fifty miles an hour
The country roads I see
Switch on my Motorola, drink a can of cola
And thank the Lord I’m free.
Chorus:
Nothing’s smarter than a Ford Grenada
The road and the open sky
With my headlights gleaming and my stereo screaming
I’m in touch with the earth and the sky
Then I pull on a site to camp for the night
Beneath a sky of midnight blue
And find my boss Jack parked around back
He’s a weekend gypsy too!
Chorus:
I’m a weekend and I’m gonna get tipsy
On the sweet old country air
In my caravan I’m a travelling man
In the world I haven’t got any care.
