Richard Thompson

Gypsy love

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