The soup kitchin's open-then cheer, Christians, cheer! What glorious news for poor starvin' sowls here! The soop kitchin's open for a' sorts in need; So rush in wi' yor tickets-ye'll get a gud feed.
Chorus O fine, het steem soop! O bliss that steem soop! Aw likes maw drop o' soop!
It's myed oot o' beef hoffs, fine barley, an' peas; Smokin' het, it's dilishus te sup at yen's ease; It's gud for the rich, an' not bad for the poor; Gox! empty kite grumlers it's sartin te cure.
Spoken- Drop that spoon, spooney! D'ye want te myek maw spoon the bone o' contenshun, eh? Bring this chep a ladle, mistres, an' a basin. Next the bottom, he wants sum thick. What a wite that soop'tyekin frae maw mind! Begox! it's run inte the channels o' maw corporation; an now aw feel like an alderman efter a gud feed! It's a fine institushin; it suits maw constitushin; an 'tiv onny poor sowl in a state o' destitushin it's a charitable contribushin. Sum people's born wi' silver spoons I' thor gobs, but it strikes me mine's been a basin o' soop. They enjoy the luxeries o' this world; A -whey, nivver mind-just gi' me the sweet soond o' spoons an' basins. That's the music that bids me discorse! It fills me wi' delight! Thor's nowt can lick't.
Tune- "Merry Haymakers."
Then a song an' a cheer for the rich spreed o' steem O' the soop floatin' roond us on high; For the givers an' the makers, the tickets an' the Quakers, An' subscribers that nivver tip shy. We blaw oot owr bags on the cheep ivvery day, While happy as kings there we mess; Goxc! us poor starved sowls nivver heed the wind that howls, For close roond the tyebles we press.
Tune-"Cameron Men."
Roond tyebel and benches the bullies they stick, A' cled in thor feedin' array; Sum coolin' het soop, uthers fishin' for thick, Uthers waitin' thor torns I' dismay.
Then we hear the spoons rattlin', rattlin', rattlin', we hear them agyen an' agyen; Thor knockin' thor basons an' brattlin', 'Tis the voice o' the brave Sandgit men.
Bob Johnson cries, "How ! becrike, men, what' that?" Wiv his spoon raised up high for te view; "Begum! it's a rat, or a greet lump o' fat"- Says Ranter, "It's mebbies sum stew!"
Then we hear the spoons rattlin'. rattlin', rattlin', Ye hear them agyen an' agyen; "Shuv the salt roond!' aw hear sum chaps prattlin', 'Tis the voice o' the brave Keeside men.
The Paddies flock in wi' the rest iv a trice, Then doon to thor basins they stoop; Says Mick, "It's cock turtle!" Says Barney, "It's nice! Made from real Irish bulls-O what soop!"
Spoken- "Long, life t' the soop kitchin!" says Mick. "An' hivven be his bed thit invented it! says Barney. "What's this?" says Mick. "Och! it's only a bone. Be jaberes! I thought it was a lump of lane bafe. Some moor, misthress!"
Then ye hear the spoons rattlin', rattlin', rattlin', Once mair ye hear them agyen; Ye hear them prattlin', prattlin', prattlin', 'This the voice o' the Callaghan men.
The Sandies, frae Scotland, they join I' the group, Sweerin' oatmeal's oot-dune wi' sic stuff, As wi' gud Heelin' stamocks they swalley the soup 'In thor wames, till they scarcely can puff.
Spoken- "It's capital stuff, Sandy; and vera economical." A capital remairk," says Watty
Then ye hear the spoons rattlin', rattlin', rattlin', Ye hear them agyen and agyen; Ye hear them prattlin' an' prattlin', 'Tis the voice o' the Cameron men.