From the island of vancouver|to the isle of newfoundland|theres daisys by the wayside|and the pasture's green again |the bluejay on the fence post|has summer in his song|while out on the open highway i thumb my way along||roving all over the land|roving all over the land||with a knapsack on my shoulder|and a flat top by my side|i roam the great north country |and feel so free inside|there stops an old hay wagon|i climb up on the load|where i munch on a big red apple as we jog along the road||roving all over the land|roving all over the land||you'll find me by the river|where the lively otter plays|or asleep by the meadow|where the lazy cattle graze|you'll find me in the backseat |of a car that moves along|to the music of my flat top on an old hitchhikers song||roving all over the land|roving all over the land||here comes an old truck driver|i know by the way he smiles|i'll sing and pick my flat top |for the next 200 miles|and a little voice will tell me|i've made another friend|i'll share his bacon sandwich and i'm on the road again||roving all over the land|roving all over the land||from the island of vancouver|to the isle of newfoundland|theres daisys by the wayside|and the pasture's green again |the bluejay on the fence post|has summer in his song|while out on the open highway i thumb my way along||roving all over the land|roving all over the land|roving all over the land|roving all over the land|roving all over the land|