Oh she was a rare thing, fine as a bee's wing
And you wouldn't want me any other way"
She said "Oh man, you foolish man
She said, "As long as there's no price on love, I'll stay
Back on the Derby beat
You'll not own me as well"
Brown hair zig-zag around her face
If I could just taste all of her wildness now
And knives wherever we went
A man named Romany Brown
And you wouldn't want me any other way"
Oh she was a rare thing, fine as a bee's wing
And they say her flower is faded now
There was animal in her eyes
The hawks against the doves
Who was working next to me
So fine a breath of wind might blow her away
She said, "As long as there's no price on love, I'll stay
We busked around the market towns
She thought we shouldn't wait for the frost
And we could tinker lamps and pots
And I thought maybe we should
Oh she was a rare thing, fine as a bee's wing
If you don't take me out of here
Was too much settling down
Fire burning in the hearth and babies on the rug
Down on Cauldrum Street
So fine that I might crush her where she lay
And you wouldn't want me any other way"
They were burning babies, burning flags
And I said that we might settle down
I'll surely lose my mind"
But maybe that's just the price
And tempers reached a pitch
Oh she was a rare thing, fine as a bee's wing
And I miss her more than ever words could say
Get a few acres dug
It surely sounds like hell
You might be Lord of half the world
And like a fool I let her run
But even a gypsy caravan
She said, "As long as there's no price on love, I'll stay
We was drinking more in those days
Like a fox caught in the headlights
You pay for the chains you refuse
The work was pretty good
She said, "Young man, oh can't you see
Oh the last I heard she's sleeping rough
And a look of half-surprise
I'm not the factory kind
I took a job in the steamie
And they say she even married once
We was camping down the Gower one time
Hard weather and hard booze
She was a lost child, oh she was running wild
She was a lost child, oh she was running wild
And picked fruit down in Kent
With the rambling itch
And I fell in love with a laundry girl
So fine a breath of wind might blow her away
And a wolfhound at her feet
She was a lost child, she was running wild
If I could hold her in my arms today
White Horse in her hip pocket
