What Myed Ye Get the Bag?

                      Teun-"Trab, trab."

                      "Oh, Jack, aw's nearly crazy,
                      Aw wish that aw wes deed!"
                      I' grief, says Mistress Vaisey,
                      "Ye'll drive us oot me heed;
                      Ye knaw that wark it's slack,
                      What myed ye get the sack?

                      Oh, Jack, Jack, Jack,
                      Ye'll drive us mad,
                      What myed ye get the bag?

                      The cupboard's nearly empy,
                      Thor's ne tick at the shop;
                      The landlord says we'll heh te pay
                      If we intend te stop;
                      Wor ower heed I' debt,
                      Eneuf te myek us fret.

                      Oh, Jack, etc.

                      Nan Thomsin lent us sixpence,
                      Whenivor will aw paid?
                      Forbye a bag o' roondy coals
                      Aw gat frae Mistress Braid;
                      Me stockins' full o' holes,
                      Me best beuts hes ne soles.

                      Oh, Jack, etc.


                      Next Sunday's Tommy's chrisnin,
                      We'll hev te put that off,
                      For if we heh ne bottle,
                      The neybors a' wad scoff;
                      Besides the cheese an' breed,
                      But that wor-sels we'll need.

                      Oh, Jack, etc.

                      Them's Dolly's claes aw'm mendin,
                      Thor raggy as can be,
                      O' patches thor's ne endin,
                      Will she get owt frae ye?
                      An' Jimmy's shoes thor bad,
                      His feet's byeth damp an' cad.

                      Oh, Jack, etc.


                      Ye say yor foreman's sawsy,.
                      An' what if he shud be?
                      Thor's mnyen aw've seen te beat ye,
                      He issent warse than ye;
                      Ye've gien him nowt but jaw,
                      An' that's the cawse, aw knaw.

                      Oh, Jack, Jack, Jack,
                      Ye'll drive us mad,
                      That's hoo ye've got the bag!"

                      -Joe Wilson