Gypsy Love Songs - Richard Thompson

Tropical night, malaria moon

Dying stars of the silver screen

Oh she danced that famous gypsy dance

With a hole in her tambourine

I was young enough and dumb enough

I swallowed down my Mickey Finn

She’d hijacked a few hearts, all right

I went into a tail spin

Oh, don’t sing me, don’t sing me

Don’t sing me no more gypsy love songs

Don’t sing me, don’t sing me

Don’t sing me no more gypsy love songs

Don’t stir it up again

I put my arm around her waist

Says she «Young man, you’re getting warm»

The room was going somewhere without me

And she laughed as she read my palm

Oh, don’t sing me, don’t sing me

Don’t sing me no more gypsy love songs

Don’t sing me, don’t sing me

Don’t sing me no more gypsy love songs

Don’t stir it up again

Oh stillborn love, passionate dreams, pitiful greed

And the silver tongues of the tinker girls

Who throw the book of life at you

But they don’t know how to read

She was a third generation Transylvanian

I was the seventh son of a seventh son

I begged the band «Don't play that tune

Please don’t beguine the begun»

When I awoke, she’d cut and run

She stole my blueprints and my change

Just a horseshoe and a note on the bed

And all it read was «Strange»

Don’t sing me, don’t sing me

Don’t sing me no more gypsy love songs

Don’t sing me, don’t sing me

Don’t sing me, don’t sing me

Don’t sing me no more gypsy love songs

Don’t stir it up again