Down by the hearth where the embers glow,
the cobbler taps with a steady flow.
His boots are worn, his tails are grand,
a pint in his grip, a tool in his hand.
Oh,
dance to the tune of the cobbler's tail,
a jig,
a laugh,
a clinking nail,
round and round let the fiddles play.
We'll mend the night till the break of day.
He
speaks of a lass with hair like flame,
a wandering heart no man could tame.
She stole his coin,
his heart,
his shoe,
but left him a song and a tale or two.
Oh,
the cobbler cried,
but then he laughed,
a life like mine,
it's a lively craft.
Oh,
dance to the tune of the cobbler's tail,
a jig,
a laugh,
a clinking nail,
round and
round let the fiddles play.
We'll mend the night till the break of day.
The banjo strums and the whistle sings,
the bar on pounds and the rafters ring.
Through cobbled streets the echoes rise,
the cobbler's cheer lights up the sky.