You Call Me A Gypsy

You call me a “gypsy”. You say I’m carefree

Cause my job is construction and we move frequently.

My home is a trailer, it’s 50×10.

It’s been all the places my family has been.

it’s a home to my children, my wife, and me too.

Our home never changes, it’s the scenery that’s new.

Some natives don’t like us, they think we’re high hat.

But they do like our money. Our pay checks are fat.

In summer we’re wealthy. In winter we’re poor.

When the sun shines we’re working-60 hours or more.

When snowflakes start falling, unemployment’s in store.

Compensation helps keep that old wolf from our door.

We travel the country. We work where we can.

I tell you this “gypsy” is a hard working man.

The job that I’ve chosen is not all whipped cream.

The dirt, sweat, and noise-and bosses who scream,

Make a man wonder as he limps home at night,

With lunch pail and hard hat, if it’s been worth the fight.

Those hours I wrestle a 40-ton machine.

My hands are calloused, there’s a hole in my jeans.

At daybreak I’m ready to start on my way.

To climb on that monster and earn what they pay.

We’re thinking of moving, it’s “so long my friends”

We’re ready to travel the day this job ends.

Now what is a “gypsy”? It’s one special breed.

He’s willing to travel because of a need.

He’ll help build your highways, pipelines, and dams

In Denver, Alaska, or South Vietnam.

Construction’s our business, our union is strong.

Wherever we’re needed, we’ll soon be along.

You can call me a “gypsy”. Well you’re right, I guess.

When you’re home a thinking and we’re in wilderness.

Civilization needs “gypsy”. We build and move on.

Now if you don’t like us, relax, we’ll soon be gone.

But if you admire us and wish we could stay,

Just plan a new project and we’ll come back your way.

James J. Shreve