We had no way of staying afloat, We had to leave on a ferryboat. Economic refugees, On the run to Germany. We had the back of Maggie's hand, Times were tough in Geordieland. We got our tools and working gear And humped it all from Newcastle to here.
We're nomad tribes, travelling boys, In the dust and dirt and the wrecking noise. Drills and hammers, diggers and picks, Mixing concrete, laying bricks. There's English, Irish, Scots, the lot. United Nations what we got. Brickies, chippies, every trade. German building, British made.