Lyrics

Two old girls from Gypsytown
Drinking with a youngish Yorkshire man
He is tattooed up and down
They are only marked by time?s cruel hand

He?s built to take it, full of beans and bacon
You?d think that he could make it but he can?t keep up
Few are as rough as a Gypsytowner
In her cups

Now picture those two girls young in Gypsytown
Running out of breath to catch the bus
Skirts and aprons, braided crowns
Hands are made for work, work is sure to kill us

And was it fine, your weekend love?
Yes I had myself a night of sin
And who?d you find down at the pub?
My boy Bob and I am gonna marry him

He?s built to take it, full of beans and bacon
You?d think that he could make it I hope he can keep up
Few are as rough as this Gypsytowner
In her cups, always in her cups

One she marries, one she don?t
One she has her babies, one she won?t
Friday nights they meet for pints
And talk about the war

And they?re rough around the edges, rough on every side
Rough into the middle of their flint dulled eyes
Rougher every weekend, rougher every day
They gotta wake up in the morning to that page 3 babe
Rough as dog, and the dog he bites
From the roughest part of the roughest town in sight

They?re built to take it, full of beans and bacon
You?d think that they could make it but they?ll not keep up
Few things are as rough as to be a Gypsytowner
In her cups, always in her cups