All I want is to be the happy-go-lucky type
But somehow it creeps inside me and makes me want to run away from everything
Why am I like this?
Why can't I be like what I dream to be? ...
Because I am mad about women
I am mad about the hills,'
Said that wild old wicked man
Who travels where God wills.
'Not to die on the straw at home.
Those hands to close these eyes,
That is all I ask, my dear,
From the old man in the skies.
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