Now once again country roads are calling and my old boots are full of holes
And I have carved a secret green symbol behind a sign on the East Lancs Road
I’m leaving Salford, I’ll head for Bootle, forgotten now winter’s hungry days
I’ll sharpen knives or I’ll edge your scissors I’ll polish sunshine to pay my way

Where did my youth go? I can’t recall it but it was glorious each day that passed
I slept in flowerbeds along the roadside or in the arms of a pretty lass
With her it was my delight to dally the scent of Spring in her lap it lay
I only sharpened her knives and scissors but I got sunshine, and paid my way

For I was only a crazy tinker. without a home or a resting place, A petty thief, or a puppy stealer and farmers slammed their gate in my face
So self-important, they knew their roots were planted in rich and fertile earth
I sharpened knives and I sharpened scissors I polished sunshine and knew my worth

At that time poteen belonged to all men, ‘twas cheap and cheerful, and bitter, too!
The plants to spice it grew at the roadside they gave some colour to every brew
Oh, drinking brothers, Oh late night singers you drank yourselves to an early grave
But I kept sharpening knives and scissors and plucked absinthe on Midsummer’s Day

Those who work daily will always judge me, a roving tinker who travels light,
But I’m a poet, and I’m a dreamer, and I’m a part of the summer nights
There are so many much better poets, compared with them, I’m not worth a thing
But I can sharpen their knives and scissors and thank them kindly to let me sing

Where are you now all those whom I once knew? Each pretty girl, every alehouse mug?
Half of you ended in Institutions the rest died, drowned by the bottle’s glug
But I am still hale and fresh and hearty!! My hair’s turned white, and my nose is red!
While I still sharpen my knives and scissors and polish sunshine to earn my bread