They still travel the roadways of Ireland the descendants of those that Cromwell dispossessed
The descendants of those told to 'go to hell or to Connacht' few of them ever made it west
And those who survived their first Homeless Winter traveled till the day they did die
The ancestors of the Irish travelers the tinsmiths I knew as a boy.

To hell or to Connacht shouted Cromwell the one who gave rise to a wandering clan
The one who lacked in empathy and pity he was a rather ruthless man
Yet he gave rise to wandering musicians and tinsmiths and tinsmiths have always been rare
And as musicians with the Irish travelers not many can hope to compare.

Their Romany caravans and their pinto horses now part of cultural history
Fond memories of the Irish travelers until I die will remain with me
They played and sang by their campfires at evenings they are such a talented race
And they traveled the highways and byways and could not settle in any place.

Now days they travel by motorized vehicles their horse drawn vans now a thing of the past
The ways of the travelers too have undergone changes but I suppose nothing ever does last
The descendants of those evicted by Cromwell the people of no fixed abode
The lust of the wander is in them and they travel on many a road.

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