As I go a-walking down Birmingham Street
In my new scarlet jacket all neat and complete
The girls all say as they pass me by
"Is that the young man they call Rambleaway?"
As I was walking to Birmingham Fair
I saw lovely Nancy, a curl in her hair
I tipped her the wink and she rolled her dark eye
And said I, to myself, "I'll be there by and by"
As I was out walking that night in the dark
I took my bright Nancy to be my sweetheart
She smiled in my face and to me she did say
"Aren't you the young man they call Rambleaway?"
I said, "My dear Nancy, don't smile in my face
For I do not intend to stay long in this place"
"Then where are you going? Come tell me my dear"
I told her I'd ramble the devil knows where
Before twelve weeks was over and passed
This pretty young Nancy she grew sick at last
Her dress wouldn't pin, nor her apron strings tie
And she longed for the sight of young Rambleaway
My Dad and my Mother have both gone from home
But when they return I won't sit down and mourn
I'll tell them the story and leave them to say
"Well no doubt she's been playing with young Rambleaway"
So come all you young ladies, take a warning by me
When courting the boys don't be easy and free
Just dress yourselves up as you step out to play
But take care if you meet with young Rambleaway