The Orkney Islands, off the Northern end of Scotland, are a lovely, grim, windswept desolation of a place. There's nothing to stop the wind there, the gales are almost incessant; most of the boats are small and it would be suicide to take them· out to fish on many, many days of the year. This day, they're sitting around home and a tinker ("tinkler") comes to the door looking for free rags, so they're having some sport at his expense. Gordon: Vocal and laud Jan Harmon: Vocal Paul Schaffner: Hammered dulcimer
Here's a tinkler seekin' rags,
Seekin' rags, seekin' rags,
He begs wi' plea that never flags,
Though Collie growls a warning.
What's the use of comin' here?
We're siller-less, wi' little gear.
All the time the billows roar
Men wha fish must bide ashore.
So come ye back some ither day,
Ither day, some ither day.
Wur wearin' a' the rags we hae
And weary o' the darnin'.
Here's a man wha winnae ploo,
Winnae ploo, winnae ploo.
Ne'er a thowt tae keep a coo;
He cinno thole the farmin'. (1)
Cauld the wind wi' whistle seeks
The muckle holes in Willie's breeks. (2)
All the time the billows roar
Men wha fish must bide ashore.
So come ye back...
In and oot the needle flies,
Needle flies, the needle flies;
We've patches here o' sic a size,
'TWill keep her goin' 'til morning.
Gang we all wi' tattered sarks (3)
While faither's creels lie oot o' wark.
All the time the billows roar
Men wha fish must bide ashore.
So come ye back...
(Repeat first verse)
(1) cannot abide (2) large/britches (3) shirts