THE
TINKER'S SONG.

Printed for and sold by J. Pitts, No. 14, Great Saint Andrew Street, Seven Dials.

MY
daddy was a tinker's son,
And I'm his boy, 'tis ten to one,
Here's pots to mend was still my cry,
Here's pots to mend, aloud bawls I,
Have you any tin pots, kettles, or cans,
Coppers to sodder or brass pans,
Of wives my dad had near a score,
And I have twice as many more;
And what's as wonderful as true,
My daddy was a lord, (upon my soul he
was) the lord knows who:

'Tis a hard matter for a child to know its
Own father; besides my mother was a
Queen, O yes, she was the Queen of the
Gypsies, and perhaps I was Prince, tho'
now like other tinkers, I mend one hole
and make two, with my
Ran tan tan, tan tan ran tan,
For pot or can, O I'm your man.
Once I in budget snug had got,
A barn door Capon and what not,
Here's pots to mend was still my song,
At village wake, O curse his throat,
The Cock crow'd out so loud a note,
The folks in clusters flock'd around,
They seiz'd my budget, in it found
The cock, a Gammon, Pease and Beans,
Besides a Jolly Tinker's, yes by the Lord
a Tinker's ways and means.
O they took my all. left me nothing, but
my paternal estate, which consisted of my
Ran tan, &c.

Like dad when I to quatters come,
For want of cash, the folks I hum,
Here's pots to mend; bring me some beer,
The landlord cries You'll get none here,
You tink'ring dog, your trick I know,
More beer indeed! pay what you owe,
In rage I squeez'd him 'gainst the door,
And with his back rub off the score,
At his expence we drown all strife,
To which I praise the landlord, could not
do less than praise the landlord's wife and
because she was pretty—what eyes? what
a shape! another quart and score it up
to the tinker—at any time you shall want
a little job done you may command my

Tan ran, &c.

MANTZ, FINSBURY.