Apart from the black-print-on-dark-blue-background layout, the verses are better set out here:-

Conrad Bladey's Beuk O' Newcassel Sangs The Tradition of Northumbria

Nice work, Conrad.

Ross

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The Newcastle Worthies

Air- We're aye been provided for

The praises o' Newcassel aw've lang wish'd to tell,
But now then aw'm determin'd to hae a right good spell,
An' shew what noted kiddies frae Newcassel town hes flit,
For it's a' wis been a canny place, an' sae will it yet.

A chep, they call'd him Scott, he liev'd on the banks o' Tyne,
Had a son, that i' the Government he wanted to shine:
By degrees the youth he rose up, now Lord Chancellor does sit,
And he's fill'd his place reet brawly, aye an' sae will he yet.

Of a' the fine Engravers that grace fair Lunnen toon,
Wor Tom Ransom and Bill Harvey bang a' that's up or doon:
The praises frae the 'Cademy they constantly do get;
Tor their pieces they've got medals, aye an' sae will they yet.

For boxing tee, the Lunnen cheps we'll thresh them i' their turns;
Ony see what science he has lairnt--that noted chep, Jem Burns:
Jem Wallace tee, wor champion, how Tommy Dunn he hit,
But they both good ones ever were, an' sae will they yet.

A vast mair cliver cheps we ha'e some aw'll let ye knaw;
For a strong man, whe could beat both Airchy wi' his wonderous claw;
When six men tuik him in a boat, her bottom suen he split,
And the hiding that he ga'e them, they've not forgot it yet.

For fiddling tee, now whe is there wor Blind Willie can beat?
Or for dancing whe before Jack Cockson e'er could set their feet?
Cull Billy only try him now, he'll cap ye wi' his wit;
He's truly wond'rous, ever was, and sae will he yet.

Bob Cruddance, ah, poor soul! he's deed--he had a cliver knack
O' keeping beer, aye three yards off, when he parish'd the pack!
And whin Bob 'bout the militia constantly does swet;
But by cunningness escap'd them, aye sae will he yet.

Jack Nicholson, the noble soul, a deal o' breeding shows,
Got a patent frae the King to split sheep heads with his nose;
The butchers fearing o' disgrace, a job he ne'er cud get--
But the hounour aye been wi' him, aye, an' sae will it yet.

Of Fishwives tee, that's i' wor toon, up to the present day,
Euphy Scott she is prime minister to Queen Madgie Gray:
The understerappers and descendants maintain that it was fit,
She should rule the market as she lik'd, and' sae will she yet.

Captain Starkey, Pussey Willie, and poor Cuddy Reed,
Lousy Donald and au'd judy, poor souls! they've a' gyen deed:
But, marrows, keep ye up your hearts, this is not the time to fret,
For their memories hae e-eer been up, aye an' say will they yet.

-Wm Armstrong, -In: The Newcastle Song Book or Tyne-Side Songster., W&T Fordyce
Newcastle Upon Tyne.