– Karsten Fechner/Denis Wildschütz

When we rove through the land
With the fiddles in our hands
People gather ‚round us listening to our songs
So we play our flutes
Revel in happy moods
While we wander the green hills along
When we play our drums
Then we dance like wild drunks
Our red beards are as stormy as the sea
From the coast in the west
To the middlelands of grass
We are roving and we’re calling us free, free, free

When the dark night arrives
And the Banshees rise to life
Our tales about old days fill the air
Now the campfires burn
And the memories return
There is nothing left like sadness and despair
When we hail the dawning light
And the sun is shining bright
A mild wind blows gently from the sea
Now it’s time to strike the tents
To overcome another fence
Heaven knows where our next campsite will be

We are called the foolish stinkers
The pissed rotten drinkers
We don’t mind, ‚cause there’s nothing to care for
We are no poetic thinkers
We are only Gaelic Tinkers
Hear our music now and open up your door

When the whiskey and the beer
Is flowing, we will cheer
And we’ll shout out our terrible cries
Our ballads are true
Once we were a pirate crew
Do not anger us, calling them lies!
So we love our Ireland
The pubs, folks and bands
The green shamrocks and the cliffs in the spray
And the dirty towns and streets
They give us the real treat.
We will ever be Tinkers, we’ll stay

But today the axles rust
And the awning’s full of dust
For the times are not as merry as before
The cold winternights are long
When an icy wind blows strong
And we can’t mend our old trades anymore
Soon our songs will be gone
But the world is going on
And maybe there’ll be no one left to mourn
But in lonely summer nights
When you’re near the ocean tide
You may see the Tinkers travelling into dawn