THE TINKERMAN

Just as the sun was going down behind yon Irish mountain brown,

A tinker came to our town, to sell his pans and tins, Sir.

Says he, “I’m hungry, sick, and sore, I’ve travelled twenty miles or more,

Abused and chased from door to door, a penance for my sins, Sir”

I gave him greeting with a smile said I, “Fine man, I like your style,

Come in and rest your brogues a while, my rugs you won’t be spoiling.

I’ll poke the fire up a bit, we’ll have a ‘seannach’ while you sit

And when I’ve got the candle lit, the kettle will be boiling “.

He filled his pipe, says he, “ I hear that in the North tobacco’s dear,”

Says I, “ My friend to me it’s clear, you’ve come across the Border “

He says, “ I did, I won’t deny, I didn’t know the North was dry

But still you have a great supply of English law and order,”

Says I, “ Now tell me tinkerman, and be as truthful as you can,

No thought of cop or black and tan to prejudice the telling,

Since England made the Southeners free, are all things as they ought to be ?

A land of peace and chivalry, where happy folk are dwelling ? “

Good Man” the tinker made reply, “ To one like you I will not lie,

Although it’s not for such as I, to criticize our Rulers,

In Eire freedom may abound, and twenty shillings to the pound

It’s still no happy hunting ground for Tinkermen or Shulers………”