It was market day in the village,
and the crowds 'round the stalls was quite dense,
but what caught my eye was a stall pie-eyed
with the musical instruments.

And up to the stall was a little old man,
his clothes was all tattered and thin,
but his face come alight when his eyeballs caught sight
of a beautiful old violin.

He held it up to the dealer
saying, "How much is this one then?"
He replied, "That's a Stradivarius, my man,
that'll cost you four pound ten."

"I can't afford that," sighed the little old man
and a lump come into my throat,
I was feeling quite huffed, and so I stuffed
in his hand a ten-shilling note.

A crowd had gathered behind us
so I quickly went 'round with his hat,
when I finished I found I'd collected five pounds
so I took my ten shilling back.

Well we give the dealer the money
and the old man so shadilly dressed,
picked up the violin, stuck it under his chin
and he played like a man possessed.

He played Sonatas and Fugues,
and some Innocent Marpl's Songs too,
played composers like Johann Sebastian Bach
to mention only a few.

He played waltzes by Strauss and Die Fledermaus,
and Tales From the Vienna Wood,
then Tchaikovsky's Piano Concerto
(but he didn't play that quite so good).

"Well done!" cried the crowd when he finished
and they gently patted his head,
but the excitement was too much for the little old man
who unfortunately fell down dead.

Well we give the dealer his fiddle
and we took back our four pound ten,
then we picked up the old man and we laid him to rest
in the cemetery down by the glen.

But sometimes at night when the moon do shine bright,
if I should happen to stray,
up over the hill, it seems that still
I can hear the old fiddler play.