By the gateway of this aged estate
There he would stand from morn’ till late
The aging tramp in his worn-out rags
With his wabbly stick and his creased paper-bags
There he would bow to the passers-by
With a friendly grin and a wink in the eye
And wave to all with his shaky hand
Scattered coins by his feet in the sand
Little rascals would make fun of him
Pulling faces but the tramp wasn’t grim
The kids were giggling and were noisy too
He’d take a wee sip from his strange brew
Time passed his rags were increasingly torn
Holes in his shoes showed the years they were worn
His condition had now heavily declined
One eye saw barely the other was blind
So came the day in the falling snow
First time ever the tramp didn’t show
He’d said his last words and was gone for good
There now stands a rose bush where he once stood
So came the day in the falling snow
First time ever the tramp didn’t show
He’d said his last words and was gone for good
There now stands a rose bush where he once stood