A son of a Gambolier

Come join my humble ditty,

From Tippery town I steer,

Like ev'ry honest fellow,

I take my lager beer,

Like ev'ry honest fellow,

I take my whiskey clear.

I'm a rambling rake of poverty,

And a son of a Gambolier.

I wish I had a barrel of rum,

And sugar three hundred pound,

The college bell to mix it in,

The clapper to stir it round;

I'd drink the health of dear old Yale,

And friends both far and near.

I'm a rambling rake of poverty,

And a son of a Gambolier.