i ve been over snowdon i ve slept up on crowdown i ve camped by the winston s as well i ve sun bathed on kinder been burned to a cinder and many more things i can tell my rucksack has oft been my pillow the heather has oft been my bed and sooner than part from the mountains i think i would rather be dead i m a rambler i m a rambler from manchester way i get all my pleasure the hard moorland way i may be a wage slave on monday but i am a free man on sunday the day was just ending as i was descending near grindsbrook just by upper tore when a voice cried hey you in the way keepers do he d the worst face that i ever saw the things that he cried were unpleasant i the teeth of his fury i said sooner then part from the mountains i think i would rather be dead i m a rambler i m a rambler from manchester way i get all my pleasure the hard moorland way i may be a wage slave on monday but i am a free man on sunday he called me a louse and said think of the grouse well i thought but i still couldn t see why old kinder scout and the moors round about couldn t take both the poor grouse and me he said all this land is my masters at that i stood shaking my head no man has the right to own mountains any more than the deep ocean bed i m a rambler i m a rambler from manchester way i get all my pleasure the hard moorland way i may be a wage slave on monday but i am a free man on sunday i once loved a maid a spot welder by trade she was fair as the rowan in bloom and the bloom of her eyes mocked the june moorland sky and i loved here from april to june on the day that we should have been married i went for a ramble instead for sooner than part from the mountains i think i would rather be dead i m a rambler i m a rambler from manchester way i get all my pleasure the hard moorland way i may be a wage slave on monday but i am a free man on sunday so i ll walk were i will over mountain and hill and i lie where the bracken is deep i belong to the mountains the clear running fountains where the grey rock rise rucked and steep i ve seen the white hale in the gully and the curlew flies high over head and sooner than part from the mountains i think i would rather be dead i m a rambler i m a rambler from manchester way i get all my pleasure the hard moorland way i may be a wage slave on monday but i am a free man on sunday