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.
Nay more work on Maggie's farm. Haddaway down the autobahn. Mine's a Portakabin bed, Or a bunk in a Nissen hut instead.
There's plenty Deutschmarks here to earn. And German tarts are wunderschön. German beer is chemical free. Germany's alright with me. Sometimes I miss my river Tyne, But you're my pretty fräulein. Tonight we'll drink the old town dry, Keep our spirit levels high.