Wha wadna be a tinker
Campin aa the year,
Selling besoms, mendin pats,
Getherin orra gear.
Pipin for the towrist,
Moochin for himsel;
Sittin roond the camp-fire
He's mony a tale to tell.
He ne'er bides lang in ae bit
But flits frae place to place,
He hardly ever gangs to schule
And needna wash his face.
