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Subject: RE: Songs/Poems of Joe Wilson From: *#1 PEASANT* Date: 13 May 17 - 04:46 PM BOB JOHNSON'S COAT! TEUN-H Cruiskeen Lawn," BOB JOHNSON bowt a coat, An' he teuk a pride te show'd, For he knew that he had work'd for'd like a man; But the times they turn'd se bad, He wes forced te pairt wid, lad, An' what else cud he de wid but gan an' pawn'd? Ay, an' pawn'd, It's an awful thing te heh yor claes i' pawn! For not hawf 0' what it cost, Tiv his seet it seun wes lost, Tho he hoped te seun hed oot agyen te weer; But wi' strikes an' slackness tee, Thor wes little wark te de, An' when ye heh nowt iv'rything seems dear, Varry dear! So he'd nowt else but his aud claesnoo te weer. Then times got warse then bad, An' poor Bob grew varry sad, When he saw his best coat ticketed for sale, I' the popshop window there, Just as if it diddent care Whe got it, an' Bob Johnson turn'd quite pale, Varry pale, Cas he cuddent buy his awn coat there for sale! He'd lost the ticket tee, An' what cud the poor sowl de ? An Ackeydavey wad heh been ne use, For myest ivrything had went, Just te help te pay the rent, An' a shillin wad bowt all iv Johnson's hoose, What a hoose, So the ticket te poor Bob wes little use. Bob tell'd us just last week, For an oor he cuddent speak, When he saw his best coat on a fellow'S back, A greet fop had gyen an' bowt Johnson's coat for next te nowt, It myed Bob wish te give his jaws a crack, Wiv a smack, Te see his best coat on anuther's back! It's a fact, The reet place for yor claes is yor awn back! Source: Joe Wilson,(author) Songs and Drolleries, 1890 |
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Subject: RE: Songs/Poems of Joe Wilson From: *#1 PEASANT* Date: 13 May 17 - 04:27 PM GALLOWGATE BATHS TEUN-The Lankishore Lass." THOR'S a scene amang steam, an' the weshorwife'scream, That's heard ivry day i' the Gallowgate Wesh-hoose, An' ye'd fancy yor-sel i' the world 0' dreams, If ye once had a glimpse 0' the Gallowgate Baths, For the wivesa' there-they heh ne care, But te clean the claes that's dorty there, An' they a' seem equal te thor share 0' the wark at the Gallowgate Baths. Kortis. An' they'll chatan' they'll sing, An'they'l scrub an' they'l ring, Byeth gud-Iuckin lasses an' wives sethrifty, They'll poss an' they'll boil, An' they'll cheerily toil, Frae morning te neet at the Gallowgate Baths. Ye'll forst see the man that keeps a' the steam gawn, As blithe as a king, luckin eftor the boilers, An' he's willin te did, for he knaws that he can, He's a real canny chep at the Gallowgate Baths; The complaints ye hear, they cawse such fun, Such as, "Marcy me I Jack's draw'rs is deun, Byeth dishcloot an' tool they've been, but seun They mun bid thor gud-bye te the Baths!" Says Mary, "Bliss me! yor a weshorwife tee, Yor swettin, but beer myeks the swet cum oat, lass, When aw wes a lass aw wes varry like ye, l' them days we'd nowt like the Gallowgate Baths; But there's Mally Scott rung her claes afore me, An' it wassent her turn,-what a hussy is she, But the forst time that ivor aw get on the spree, Aw'l! myek her rue gawn te the Baths!" Says Nanny, "Aw's frighten'd me claes is run short," An' she thinks tiv her-sel that she'll mind the mang'il, Then anuther poor sowl wiv her feelins hurt, Myeks a doleful lament at the Gallowgate Baths," War Geordey's laps thor wore clean throo, An' it's not lang since the shart wes new," Tho he sweers it's wind that's blawn them throo, She blisses him weel at the Baths! Says Nelly, "Thor's sumbody gyen wi' me soap, That 'ill spoil us noo for a full day's weshin, But if thor in arnist aw only hope We'll see them ne mair at the Gallowgate Baths!" "Gud grayshus I" cries Peggy; "me man's clean adrift, Tho aw did what aw cud te give him a lift, For wi' maw shimmee he's myekin a shift, His shart's at the Gallowgate Baths!" Source: Joe Wilson,(author) Songs and Drolleries, 1890 |
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Subject: RE: Songs/Poems of Joe Wilson From: *#1 PEASANT* Date: 13 May 17 - 02:02 PM PARSIVEER! OR, AVD TOMMY'S ADVICE TIV HIS SON JACK. TEUN.-"Little Dick." "DRAW near yor chair, maw bonny lad, An' lissen te me words, An' hear yor fethur's best advice Expeerience affords, Ye see we've got a canny hyem, Thor's nowt but cumfort here, Ye'll wundor hoo !- aw'll tell ye, Jack, We always parsiveer! Suppose aw've just a pund a week, Three shillins clears the rent, An' hard tho' aw may struggle for'd, It's nivvor idly spent. Yor muther tyeks gud care 0' that, Her man an' bairns te cheer, A'gud wife myeks her husbind knaw The way te parsiveer! At forst we diddent 'gree forst-rate, Like newly-married [oaks, But she wad nivvor let us fight, She'd stop me mooth wi' jokes, Or else sum kind an' luvin word She knew aw liked te hear, An' myed us myek a happy hyem, Te keep't-we parsiveer ! Let shopmates scoff at ye, an' jeer Aboot bein tied at hyem, An' if they drink, it dissent say That ye shud de the syem, A glass 0' beer may de ye gud, But tyek ne mair for fear It leads ye tiv ecksess, so then Agyenst it parsiveer! Ye've heard what lots 0' clivor men Throo drink we cuddent save, Where one man myeks a fortin wid, A thoosind finds a grave. Keep up yor heart, be stiddy, lad, An' then thor is rie fear But happy days ye'll find i' store, Just only parsiveer! What was't that myed the Stephenson's An' Airmstrang's greet success? An' hoo did Grainger myek war toon Se fine? ye'll eas'ly guess; The Claspers, an' Bob Chambers, tee, An' Renforth's great career, Wad vivvor been, they kwew full weel, Withoot they'd parsiveer! Aw've deun a' that a fether cud Te myek ye a gud trade, An' if aw've not been one me-sel, The best 0' bad aw've myed ; Thor's alwayswark for stiddy cheps, An' tallints bright an' clear, Spring raydient frae the workin men That's meant te parsiveer !" Source: Joe Wilson,(author) Songs and Drolleries, 1890 |
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Subject: RE: Songs/Poems of Joe Wilson From: *#1 PEASANT* Date: 13 May 17 - 01:02 PM MOOR EDGE NELL! TEUN-"Haymaking." THOR'S a lass aw alwaysdream aboot, for ivor neet an' day, She's nivvor oat me thowts at a', an' aw hope she nivvor may, Tho' aw hevvent been owt like me-sel since that eventful day Aw met me bonny Nelly on the Moor Edge. Korus. TEUN-"Bide ye yit." Me Moor Edge Nell, me bonny young Nell, What aw think 0' that lass thor's nebody can tell; She's bonny, she's canny,-gud luck te me-sel, If aw's only the sweetheart 0' Moor Edge Nell. Her greet Shinon shone bright an' reed as a rival te the sun, Her bonny fyece se roond an' plump cud clean eclipse the meun, An' her eyes they twinkled like two stars that Sunday efterneun Aw met me bonny Nelly on the Moor Edge. Aw introduced me-sel te her, tho byeth ov us wes shy, She luckt at me an' aw luckt at her, an' foakslucktpassin by, But byeth ov us had tungs te speak, an' cud did when we'd try, An' we really got quite frindly on the Moor Edge. Aw call her Moor Edge Nell becas aw divvent knaw her nyem, Tho aw heerd sumbody call her Nell as we war gannin hyem; Awthowt it soondid bonny, so aw've gein her just the syem, An' we heh te meet next Sunday on the Moor Edge. The palpitation o'the heart since the aw've refund's me share, An' aw've got a poor man's plaistor on te try an' stiddied there; But like a muffled drum it beats, an' will de, aw declare, Till aw meet me bonny Nelly on the Moor Edge. Source: Joe Wilson,(author) Songs and Drolleries, 1890 |
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Subject: RE: Songs/Poems of Joe Wilson From: *#1 PEASANT* Date: 13 May 17 - 12:49 PM JUST A HAPNEY Music by the Author. "JUST a hapney I-nivvor mind it! Ye needint say a word, We'll nivvor let a trashy meg Between us myek discord ; It may be yor mistyek or mine, The change's gettin rang sum way, But ahapney's neethor here nor there!" Aw heard this iv a bar one day, Just a hapney! just a hapney! Thrawn away-dispised. "Just a meg !-we'll nivvor find it, It's ower dark the neet, Te seek for just a paltry hapney Fallin i' the street; Then let it gan, we'll nivvor miss'd, Aw waddent soil ma fingors for'd, For a hapney's neethor here nor there!" Aw heard agyen them varry words, Just a hapney I just a hapney! Thrawn away-dispised. "Just a hapney !-if awhad one, A biskit aw wad buy, For oh, aw's varry hung'ry noo," Aw heard a laddy cry. He got one,-an' his eyes they glissin'd, Says he-"This hapney's life te me, But aw'll tyek't hyem, becas me muther Wants breed just as much as me I" Just a hapney I just a hapney! Wi' sum hoo dearly prized! Source: Joe Wilson,(author) Songs and Drolleries, 1890 |
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Subject: RE: Songs/Poems of Joe Wilson From: *#1 PEASANT* Date: 13 May 17 - 12:37 PM ETTICKITT! TEUN-"The Biskit Man." Aw'vs lately studied Ettickitt, An' think it's sumthing grand Te knaw hoo te behave yor-sel, An' when te sit an' stand, Iv ony kump'ney that yor in; An' when te myek a boo, An' the rules 0' gud behavour, whey Aw's gawn te tell ye noo ! Korus. For this is the way te behave yor-sel, Think 0' me words an' tyek a spell, Laybror, Mickanic, an' the tip-top swell, Shud study the rules aw sing! Ye've heerd that manners myeks the man, Fine feathors myek fine bords, That dissent say ye heh te dress Mair then yor means affords: Dress canny like,-yor stayshun keep, An' divvent spoil yor breed, A fact'ry lass wad nivvor seem Curl-paypors iv her heed. A workin man shud nivvor gan Te wark i' Sunday's claes, Withoot he's got nowt else te weer. A lass withoot her stays Shud keep i' doors, an' nivvor show The real size ov her waist, An' nivvor put her gluves on when Her hands all ower pyest! I' convorsayshun, nivvor shoot Withoot sumbody's deef, An' nivvor mair then three shud speak At one time's maw beleef; An' if ye think ye've tell'd a lee, Keep't te yor-sel, an' say Ne mair aboot what ye've let oot, Repent when yor away. If foaks shud myek a mornin call, An' ye shud be i' bed, Just say yor oot an' not at hyem, Heh ne excuses myed; An' if they call at dinner-time, An' ye've not got eneuff, Just heh yor awn an' let them gan, Suppose they tyek the huff If ye invite sum frind te tea, Tell them yor not prepared, Aw nivvor saw a hoosewifeyit But just the syem declared; An' if the tea gets ower strang, The kettle's on the neuk, Te let ye knaw thor's wetter there, If ye wad only luck. At borths an' krisnins say yor glad Te see se fine a bairn; At deeths yor sad, yecannet help't, Ye've nowt i' that te Iairn ; At weddins jump an' dance wi'joy, An' let the foaksa' see Ye knaw what Ettickitt shud be, Ay, just as weel as me! Source: Joe Wilson,(author) Songs and Drolleries, 1890 |
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Subject: RE: Songs/Poems of Joe Wilson From: *#1 PEASANT* Date: 13 May 17 - 12:24 PM THE DEETH 0' BOB CHAMBERS! AIR-" Come into my Cabin, Red Robin." l' THE gloom thor's aroond bonny Tyneside, 'Mang the greef that's se bad te contain, When all honest hearts mourn for thor champien, Wi' breests fill'd wi' sadness an' pain, Aw'll sing i' the praise 0' Bob Chambers, The manliest, the gamest, an' true. He's alive i' the hearts ova' Tyneside, Tho we've lost wor poor " Honest Bob" noo. Fareweel te the days when Bob Chambers Wes wor idol, wor pet, an' wor pride, When he set the whole world at defiance- Brave champein 0' canny Tyneside. When aw think ov his'sowl-storrin races, Aw can hardly believe that he's gyen l' the prime ov his life;-hoo Deeth's hurried, -But thor's LIFE still iv Honest Bob's nyem. Fareweel te the canny Bob Chambers, A man for his honesty famed; Strite-forward, an' kind, noble-hearted, Wor champein such qualities c1aim'd. Ay, an' what's mair, we knaw he possess'd them; Oh, then, hoo can we help but repine For the hero that's gain'd wor affecshun, Like this brave hardy son 0' the Tyne. Fareweel te the world's finest champein; An' defeated be Deeth tho ye be, It cannot tyek ye frae wor hearts, lad; An' yor form lang i' mem'ry we'll see. We've been prood-ay, an' still wor prood 0' ye; An' yor brave deeds for ivor 'ill shine Throo the gloom thor's been myed wi' greet sorrow, For the Champein an' Pride 0' the Tyne. Source: Joe Wilson,(author) Songs and Drolleries, 1890 |
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Subject: RE: Songs/Poems of Joe Wilson From: *#1 PEASANT* Date: 12 May 17 - 10:36 PM LOSSIN THE LICENCE! TEUN-" The Uppur Ten." THE leets burn'd dimly i' the bar, The lanlord wassent there, The tyeble wes a' thick 0' dart, The koonter had its share; An' ivrything luckt oat 0' place, The lanlady her-sel Wes fair dooncast, an' frev her lips This doleful ditty felI Korus. " Thor's nowt on orth me heart te cheer, Me heart te cheer, aw'm wretched here, For thor issent a thing i' the hoose but beer, Throo wor Geordey wi' lossin the Licence! "This used te be a peaceful port, But noo life's bitter here, Me temper once wes sweet an' mild, But noo aw cannet beer The thowts that myek us w(h)ine a' day, Me sporrits thor se law, The Rector cannot keep the hoose, An' the baccy is ne draw. "The beer 'iIllike the trade turn flat, Wor nearly sure te fail, We'll need sum good supporters, As we heh nowt else but ale,' The glasses they'll a' gan tepot, Then bottled up we'll be, Aw find aw'm not near half as stoot, It's ne sham pain wi' me ! "The sellors nearly empy noo, An' buyers very rare, It's rum te think such changes cum, Such dull times issent fair An' Geordey, like the sheep he is, He's gyen upon the spree, Aw'll punch his heed te think he'd leeve An ail-in wife like me. "It's true they fined him once or twice, Or twice or thrice or mair, Ye'd thowt twad been a cawshun, But wor Geordey diddent care; An'throo a quairt 0' penny beer, Wor trade an' Licence's gyen, He diddent treat the Bobbies wee!, Or they'd lettin him alyen ! --Source: Joe Wilson,(author) Songs and Drolleries, 1890 |
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Subject: RE: Songs/Poems of Joe Wilson From: *#1 PEASANT* Date: 12 May 17 - 10:13 PM RENFORTH, THE CHAMPEIN. -BY JOE wILSON TEUN-" the Postman's Knock." TYNESIDE'S lang been fam'd for producin greet men, Luck at Airmstrang an' Stivvison, tee, An' Grainger that myed wor fine toon what it is, An' its bildins thor grand ye'll agree; But the bildin 0' boats an' boat pullin's wor pride, An' where, always we try hard te shine, An' Renforth, a brave hardy Son 0' the North's Browt the Champeinship back te the Tyne, Korus. Then lang may success an' gud hilth combine Wi' Renforth, the Champein 0' Thames an' the Tyne. We lost poor Bob Chambers, then sadly we greev'd, Thor wes nyen but what liked Honest Bob, An' we sigh'd for anuther te fillup he's place, Tho' we knew twes a difficult job, Till Renforth com oot like the man that he is, For the honour 0' canny Tyneside, An' te stop him frae tyekin Bob Chambers's place, The whole world he bravely defied! Then a challinse wes sent, an' a match thor wes myed Wi' the best Lundun Champein thor's been, That's brave Harry Kelley, the Pride 0' the Thames, An' a finer race nivor wes seen; For wi' confidence pictor'd on each manly broo, The North an' the South meet agyen, Thor ready!-thor offl-then the struggle begins, As the crood roar an' cheer for thor men. Incorridg'd be cheers frae thor frinds all aroond, Thor byeth strivin hard for the leed, An' then the North Countrymen shoot wi' delight, As they see thor pet forgin aheed, Tho Kelley, as game as man ivor can be, Spurts hard te catch Jimmy, but nay! The Tynesider's there wi' byeth corridge an' skill, Ay, an' strength tee te leed a' the way. The Champeinship's wun, an' it's browt te the Tyne, A river myed famous wi' men Like Chambers, the Claspers, Bob Cooper, besides Jimmy Taylor, an' Perey,-so then Gud luck te Jim Renforth, lang may he maintain The honour he noo hauds wi' pride; An' gud luek tiv his trainer, Jim Taylor, as weel, An' the boat-pullers a' roond Tyneside ! -Source: Joe Wilson,(author) Songs and Drolleries, 1890 |
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Subject: RE: Songs/Poems of Joe Wilson From: *#1 PEASANT* Date: 11 May 17 - 06:05 PM thanks- corrected: IN MEMORY OF THE HARTLEY CATASTROPHE January 16th, 1862. By which 204 Mm and Boys were buried alive in New Hartley Pit. By the watch-fire's glow, 'mid the falling snow, There reigns a death-like gloom, Whilst prayers are murmured for those below Immur'd in a living tomb. With a tearless eye, and despairing sigh, Too sad, too griev'd to weep, The watcher's wild and heart-rending cry Is heard on the cold pit-heap. 'Mid the shaft's foul air, the brave searchers dare Its dangers to defy; "Have mercy, 0 God!" is the last sad prayer Of the miners doom'd to die. Again from below, to the scene of woe The searchers bold appear, Their words breathe hope, while their glances show Dread signs of desponding fear. Seven days have pass'd, they are found at last, Too LATE, sweet life to save, For death's mighty spell is o'er them cast, In that dark and fearful grave. Breathe forth a prayer for bereav'd ones there, Whose peace of mind hath fled, Good Lord, soothe with thy heav'nly care Those who mourn the hapless dead. -Source: Joe Wilson,(author) Songs and Drolleries, 1890 |
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Subject: Lyr Add: The Sunderland Trip! From: *#1 PEASANT* Date: 11 May 17 - 07:51 AM The Sunderland Trip! TEUN-" Me Blue-Ey'd Sal 0' the Bull Ring." WOR Peg an' me myed up wor minds te hey a trip one day, So on board ov a boat for Sunderland doon the wetter we myed wor way; But, oh! when we got oot te sea, poor Peg began te thraw! An' te see the tears rowlin doon her cheeks wad melted a heart 0' snaw ! Chant. Says she, "Marcy me, Joe, awfeel varry bad, is Sunderland varry far noo? Aw nivor imadgind the boat wad hike se, an' the spray's myed us nearly wet throo; Aw wish we war there, or at Tinmuth, or Sheels, as lang as we get on dry land, For aw think aw'll fall ower the boat when aw sit, an' aw cannit for all the world stand." Korus. An' ay, but Peggy's a cawshun, a cawshun ye'll agree, An' aw'l! nivor forget that Sunderland trip, When Peggy went there wi' me. Teun. At last we byeth got safe on land, an Peggy's claes myed dry, Be the kitchin fire iv a public-hoose she stud heevin many a sigh; Aw ordered halfs 0' brandy het,-says she, "Aw still feel queer, What a pity, Joe, that the brandy's not the syem price as Mackey's beer." Chant. So aw thowt,-then we set off te see Charley Watson, a frind 0' both Peggy's an' mine, There aw saw she was myekin the bitter beer flee, so aw thowt that aw'd better drink wine Te keep me-sel stiddy, te tyek care 0' Peg, for the truth on't whenivor she's full She'll kick up such a rowan' she'll lead such a tung that the {oaks set her doon as a feul ! Korus Teun, Then airm an' airm wi' Peg aw went up High Street, blithe an' gay, The foaks a' stopt, an' they stared at Peg, for she's one ye'Il not see ivry day; When i' the Park amang the fiooers, says she, "Man, here it's grand, An' hivvin 'ill surely be like this,-if they'll tyek in the bobby's band." Chant. Then eftor we'd been a full oor i' the park, i' Bridge Street we myed a full stop, For Peggy declared for the gud ov her hilth she wad just hey anuther "wee drop." When i' High Street agyen, iv a whisper says she, "Aw take notis 0' foaks as they pass us, An' aw really believe, lad, i' this bonny toon that the poplation's nearly a' lasses l" Korus Teun. Then higher up the toon wewent an' myed a real gud tea, "It's nearly as gud as aw myek me-sel," says Peg wiv a wink te me; The lanlady she luckt amazed, but her smiles turn'd tiv a froon When Peg proposed te stand on her heed an' sing the "cure," upside doon ! Chant. Then we set off agyen for a walk roond the toon, as we'd myed up wor minds for the train, For Peggy wad nivor gyen back i' the boat, besides she wes meant for a drain; Seclosete the stayshun, i' Leetheed's at last, she astonish'd the foaks i' the bar "Vi' tossin a chep for the glasses a' roand,-ay, an' smokin a crackin segar. Korus. -Source: Joe Wilson,(author) Songs and Drolleries, 1890. |
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Subject: Lyr Add: Hinny, Dinnet Cry From: *#1 PEASANT* Date: 11 May 17 - 07:49 AM Hinny, Dinnet Cry TEUN-" Spanish Fandango Walse." THOR tellin tyels 0' me, me luv, but dinnet thoo beleeve, De ye think that aw wad try te win yor heart, an' then disseve? Oh no, aw'd rethur welcum deeth, an'bid the world gud-bye, Then harm ye wiv a single breeth, so hinny, dinnet cry! Korus. TEUN-" The Hurdy-Gurdy Lad!" So, hinny, dinnet cry, or ye'll spoil them eyes se bonny, Ay, hinny, dinnet cry, an' ye munnit luck se sad; For iv a' the lasses that thor is, aw like ye best ov any, So ye munnit fall oot wi' me, me pet, or ye'll myek us varry bad! They say aw court anuther lass the time aw gan wi' ye, But spite 'ill myek them say such things, te turn yor heart frae me. Upon me oath-aw's true as steel, aw'd scorn te tell a lee; Is maw word not as gud as theirs? can ye not trust i' mer So wipe yor eye-an' dinnet cry, or let the reed-rose fade Frae off yor cheek-te hey i' place the lily's deeth-like shade; Cheer up, maw pett-the past forget, an' dry away the tears, An' let yor sweet aud-fashun'd smile dispel yor jillis fears! -Source: Joe Wilson,(author) Songs and Drolleries, 1890. - |
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Subject: Lyr Add: Charley's Run Away. From: *#1 PEASANT* Date: 11 May 17 - 07:44 AM Charley's Run Away. TEUN - "Little Dick." WOR Charley's run away frae hyem, They say he's gyen te sea; Aw's sure we've a' been kind te him, As kind as we cud be; Then oh, whativor myed him d't, What myed him gan away? He little knaws the grief he's caws'd Throo what he's deun the day. He often said he'd leeve the toon, But hoo cud we beleeve He'd myek the hoose se wretched like, An' cawse us a' te greeve? Aw's sure he's nivor gien a thowt Tiv us poor foaks at hyem, His muther's nearly oot her heed, His fethur's just the syem. He's only just sixteen eers awd, Se wild and thowtless tee, He's been weel offan' diddent knaw'd, What will he be at sea? He'll miss the cumforts ov his hyem, The cumforts thrawn away; An' then find plenty time te rue His heedstrang wark the day. His muther, poor sowl, hoo she frets, Aw's frighten'd she'll gan mad, She lucks as if her heart wad brick Aboot the wilful lad; His fethur's sowt a' roond the toon, An' miles beyond in vain, But Charley cannet hear thor moans, He cannet tell thor pain. -Source: Joe Wilson,(author) Songs and Drolleries, 1890. |
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Subject: Lyr Add: The Landlord's Dowter From: *#1 PEASANT* Date: 11 May 17 - 07:41 AM The Landlord's Dowter TEUN-" Matilda Baker." Aw's one 0' the luckiest lads that's oat, At least that's what they tell us, An' before aw's deun, thor's nyen 'ill doot The fortin that's befell us; Aw's efter, aw think, the finest lass That ivor was created, Her fethur,-he keeps a pubilic hoose, Se nobly she's related. Korus This fine-luckin lass for a queen might pass, An' a queen aw've often thowt her, An' aw's the lad if ye want te knaw'd, That's en for the landlord's dowter. Whenivor she gets an order for two For consorts or theatre, She sends for me an' away we gan, Man, she's a real forst-rater; Tho aw knaw she drinks upon the sly, Aw waddint say owt tiv her, For the time might cum, an' aw hope it will, When aw can tipple wiv her. Aw've seen when aw've laid a sixpence doon, Aw've got change for a shillin, An' if ivor she thinks aw's onyway dry, Te quench me thirst she's willin; An' aw've seen when aw've order'd half 0' rum, She's gien us half 0' brandy, An' aw's sartin the lass that behaves se weel 'Ill myek a wife that's handy. Her fethur he thinks aw's up te the mark, An' she thinks thor's nyen truer, An' the aud man says aw'll be lanlord there As seun as he turns brewer; At a pawnshop, cheap, the tuther day, The weddin ring aw bowt her; So lads, luck oot for an open hoose, When aw marry the lanlord's dowter. Source: Joe Wilson,(author) Songs and Drolleries, 1890. |
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Subject: Lyr Add: A Welcum! Te Bob Chambers Efter His Defe From: *#1 PEASANT* Date: 11 May 17 - 07:38 AM A Welcum! Te Bob Chambers Efter His Defeat For The Championship. TEUN-"John Anderson, my jo," Yor welcum back agyen, Bob, Yor welcum te yor hyem, Victorious tho ye cuddint be, Yor welcum still the syem; Ye've struggled hard te keep yor nyem Untainted wi' defeat, But Bob, yor life's just like wor awn, Ye've bitter's weel as sweet. Yor we1cum back agyen, Bob, Yor welcum te the Tyne, Where ye've displayed yor manly skill, So dinnet ye repine; Keep up yor heart, the day may cum When luck 'ill turn agyen, Hard wark 'ill tell on iron frames, An' wettor weers a styen! Ye've proov'd yor-sel a star, Bob, That's kept its lustre lang, But cloods 'ill dull the brightest star, The best sumtimes gets rang, An' man, Jor high amang the best That ivor pull'd an oar, We'll not forget,-tho beat the day, The wundors deun before. The nyem 0' Chambers, honest Bob, Aw's sure 'ill nivor dee, The brave, the game undaunted man That struggled hard te be The hero ov a hundrid spins, The champion frae Tyneside, That kept the world se lang at bay, The lickt, yor still wor pride! -Source: Joe Wilson,(author) Songs and Drolleries, 1890. |
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Subject: Lyr Add: Chambers An' Sadler -The Championship Br From: *#1 PEASANT* Date: 11 May 17 - 07:35 AM Chambers An' Sadler -The Championship Browt Back Te The Tyne, Nov. 22nd, 1866. Teun-"Whe's for the Bank." THE greet event's cum offat last, The championship it's wun, Be Chambers, pride ova' Tyneside, The Cocknies thor ootdeun; Tho two te one they laid upon Thor man te get first place, An' badly used the Tyneside lad, Bob Chambers wun the race. Korus. Then oh, lads, join i' the sang, An' sing i' praise 0' brave Bob Chambers; Oh, lads, join i' the sang, The championship he's wun! The Cocknies thowt thor man had nowt Te de but run away Frae Brave aud Bob, but faith the job Wes hard eneuff, they say, For Chambers, iv his gud aud style, Tho wesh'd on ivry side Be Sadler's tretchrous steam-boat crew, Browt doon the Cockney's pride. When Sadler fund that he wes lickt, He pull'd across his man, An' foul'd brave Bob, that nivvor myed Such dirty wark his plan; For Chambers, win or loss a race, As game as man can be, He always lets them heh fair-play, That's mair then Cocknies de. The steamboats still kept.up thor wesh, An' tried myest a' they knew, Te swamp the little "Coaly Tyne," But on she nobly flew, Throo a' the swell the rascals myed The race at last wes run, An' Chamber, gud aud honest Bob, The championship had wun, Then sing,for Bob, the best man yit That ivor pull'd an oar, Let's wish him luck when iv his skiff, An' happiness on shore; An' may his days be lang an' glad, An' lads, this wish is mine, May he fiorish as the champion ov The Thames as weel as Tyne. -Source: Joe Wilson,(author) Songs and Drolleries, 1890. |
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Subject: Lyr Add: What Ye Shud Weer A' Throo The Eer! As From: *#1 PEASANT* Date: 11 May 17 - 07:31 AM What Ye Shud Weer A' Throo The Eer! As Reccommended Be Wor Geordey An' Wor Peg An' A'. Jenny Whory. GEORDEY.-A happy new eer-an' the best 0' gud cheer, Aw wish ye may get ivry day throo the eer ; . Noo's the time, hinnies, for yor wrappers an' coats, An' mufflers te hinder yor hevin sair throats. PEG.-Noo lasses, maw hinnies, luck weel te yor feet, An' divvint heh corns on yor toes te luck neet; Wi' strang beuts, an' pattins, an' britches cumpleet, An' two pair 0' shawls, ye may pass throo the sleet. FEBOORARY. GEORDEY.-The wethor keeps dreery, still ye munnit be flaid, But stick te the coats, tho the tailor's not paid For thor's Jimmy the snip, that leeves on the Kee, He nivor pays Qwt,-so it's a' reet wi' ye! PEG.-Dinnet mind what Geordey advises the men, If they dinnet pay him, wad he let them alyen? Weer lang cloaks an' sealskins myed 0' gudstuff; Dogs skin stuffed wi' straw myeks a varry gud muff. MAIRCH. GEORDEv.-Pork-pies may be wore i' the stomick just noo, Dinnet mind cullors for yor nose 'Il turn bloo Wi' keen winds that blaw frae the frost-bitten west, For Windy cumplaints Woodcock's Pills is the best. PEG.-Reed petticoats noo gain thor early renoon, If ye get a gud un-dispense wi' the goon, For when up the waist, the goon's nivvor seen; Reed fethors leuk weel te the bonnet that's green. YEPRIL. GEORDEv.-UmborelIas are useful i' these kind d days, Wi' top-coat abuv, ye may weer the aud claes ; At Easter let dark for leet suits change places, Save up just noo, an' yor reet for the races. PEG.- Ye munnit gan oot if yor stockins not clean, I' rain, lasses' legs cannet help but be seen; Use ne umborellas, withoot thor's ne shem, Let sum canny chep tyek an' shelter ye hyem, MAY. GEORDEY.-A leet suit lucks weel i' the first fashun cut, Wi' greet peg-top pockets-tyek pains hoo ye strut; A gud suit 0' claes lucks like nowt on the back, Ov a chep that 'ill walk as if tied iv a sack. PEG.-White Hats, wi 'reed tabs, wi' green leeves is the best, A bright yallow shawl myeks foaks stare when yor drest; A goon dubbil-skirted suits weel a smart waist Dinnet leeve the hoose withoot byeth yor beuts laced. JOON. GEORDEY.-Minadge men just noo heh thor wark te get paid, Te lie oot thor munny aw've heerd's pairt thor trade; It's time for the races-so lads, get yor claes ; Straw hats may be wore if the blunt ye can raise. PEG.-Race Sunday,maw hinnies, 'ill cum roond at last; Aw wish it wes here, an' then greeve it's gyen past, For there aw gat Geordey when seekin a lad Silk goons, an' leet capes, just noo dissent luck bad. JOOLY. GEORDEY.-For pic-nics an' trips ye had better prepare; A greet big broad check, if it issent threed-bare, Suits weel for excorshuns ;-a ten-shillin' hat Leuks weel on a chep full 0' gud-temper'd fat. PEG.-Fine muslins leuk nice gently blawn wi' the breeze, Ye munnet weer stays if ye want a gud squeeze; Smart petticoats frill'd wi' the best 0' blue crape Leuks weel wi' the hoops, if yor foot's a gud shape. AWGIST. GEORDEY.-Black claes is the best that a fellow can buy, They leuk se genteel, aw'd advise ye te try A suit just like this, for they'll suit ivry day Dorty shoes dissent leuk weel te such a display. PEG.-Black velvet roond hats trim'd wi' ribbin bright reed, Wi' black an' white fethors a gem for the heed; Kid gluves an' white stockins, an' fine flooncy goon, 'Ill suit ony lass i' the country or toon. SIPTEMBOR. GEORDEY.-Siptembor's the time for the men te weer tweeds, Soft hats is the things for the cheps wi' soft heeds; Aw wad change the neck-ties for sumthin that's thick, An eye-glass leuks weel on a swell wiv a stick! PEG.-Sum bonny corn heeds, for the season's forst-class, Stuck annunder the hat ov a gud-leukin' lass; Wi' leaves that'll rival the Leazes, se green, An' a dress myed 0' Linsey, she'llieuk like a queen. OCTOBER. GEORDEY.-Darkneets set in noo,so the bestaw can say For Chrismis te bundle yor best cIaes away Econmy's the study for maister an' man, So tyek me advice, an' ye'll try the best plan. PEG.-Green goons an' white shawls is an improvement aw think, Wi' sleeves nice an' full, trim'd wi' ribbin rose-pink, Lang ringlets, hair oily, wi' gantlets bran new, Myed 0' the best paper, might stonish a few. NOVEMBER. GEORDEY.-White waistcoats, stiff collors, broon troosers an' coat, White hats an' blue chokers tied tight roond the throat, Leuk weel at a dancin', so try these, me lad, If ye gan withoot claes yor sure te catch cawd. PEG.-Blue goons an' white stockins just noo 'ill not fail Te cawse greet attrackshun-wi' bright yallow veil; Broon tabs an' black muslins leuks weel wiv a lass That nivor at winter times leaks i' the glass. DISSEMBOR. GEORDEY.-Cawd neets an' cawd mornins cum roond us like fun, The eer like the fashun's just noo's neerly deun; Reed mufflers, big wrappers, an' gluves hae the sway, Wor Peg knaws the rest, for aw's lickt what tesay. PEG-Long cloaks, knickerbockers, plum puddin an' spice The grocer's grand prissint, just noo, swalleys nice; Gud lasses, maw hinnies, leuk oot for a lad, At Chrismis thor's plenty te get i' the squaSource: Joe Wilson,(author) Songs and Drolleries, 1890. |
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Subject: Lyr Add: Sally Wheatley's Comments On The Luv Let From: *#1 PEASANT* Date: 11 May 17 - 07:27 AM Sally Wheatley's Comments On The Luv Letter She Got Frae Charley Black, The Keyside Clerk. SCENE.-The Hoose where Sally leeves-Sally I' the Kitchen, sittin reedin the last Luv Letter she got frae Charley Black (that's her lad, ye knaw). SALLY.-Poatry agyen, bliss me, what a queer lad he is; what a heedpiece he hes, aw sav, but aw wish he wad rite it i' the Newcassel tung,-aw's fairly bamboozled wi' se monny fine words. (Reeds.) How oft in lonely moments have I sought A sweet repose in calm poetic thought, To recall past joys, and each hope extol, To light the darkness of a yearning soul. Gudness grayshus me, what can Charley mean? He cannet for a moment imadgin that aw meant owt serious when aw went te Jesmond Gardens wi' Jimmy Allan. Aw's sure Jimmy's a greet frind 0' mine, an' aw might as weel turn jealous me-sel an' say sumthing, for it diddent luck varry weel 0' Charley settin Hannah Broon hyem frae the dancin at Mrs. Elliott's. Aw wassent hawf pleased when Peggy Morrison tell'd us aboot it. Our hearts were not made to be thrown away, Or FIRST LOVE born to live but for a day; 'Mid forms and faces made to charm the eye, First Love may sleep but it can never die! Whey, that is nice i-it just puts us i' mind 0' the neet when Charley an' me had wor forst wawk throo Friday Fields. What a neet that was, aw say! Aw's sure aw varry nigh fainted when Charley tell'd us that aw wes his" forst an' only luv;" His voice trimmild se, an' he luck'd se frighten'd like, poor lad. Maw bonny Charley! Could we believe that whilst there's doubt there's hope, How soon might sadness with despair elope. Aw wad far seuner see Charley elope wi' me, but thor's nyen ov that noo-a-days. What fun thor mun heh been when aud Nelly Simpson's granmuther's greet granfethur ron away wi' Mistress Murphy (a widow body that leeved next door, an' a distant relayshun te Betty McGill that keeps a mangle at the tuther side 0' the street) te Gretna Green, an' got a blacksmith te marry them wiv a hammer. But aw dinnet knaw what te myek 0' Charley, he hes ne confidence like; an' it dissent luck wee! the lasses deein a' the coortin thorsels, aw's sure it dissent! 'Twas so with me-if truth must now be told, I thought of thee-pray do not deem me bold; For when the heart is full the tongue must speak, On paper even consolation seek. Consolayshun on paper, hooiver i' the world will he find consolayshun on paper? Aw wish Charley had niver written poatry, Ye cannet myek these fellows oot at a. Wad ye believe he actwilIy said it wes a greet releef tiv his feelins, when he cud put doon his thowts on paper? the silly lad, when he might hey cum an'tell'd me what he wes put aboot aboot, an' where will he find better consolayshun? Charley, if ye only knew't ! Your smile shone on me like a sunny morn, Affection hoped and cherished a return, But when your looks grew cold, hope disappear-d, And bitter feelings in its place career'd; I thought another, much more happy, he Had claim'd the heart I thought belong'd to me. Iv a' yor life did ye ivor see such a jealous lot 0' mortals as the men foaks. Aw've nivor had ony peace since Jimmy Allan per swayded us te hey a wawk wiv him. Then into folly-which I now repent, I heedless rush'd-s-say, love, can you relent? Relent! aw think aw can, but it dissent luck weel gein in thereckly. Aw'll plague him a bit forst. Aw knaw varry weel what folly he's hintin at, the slee deevll, He hessent forgettin settin Hannah hyem frae Elliott's dancin yit. Forgive and favour, if you still are free, My earnest wish to live and love but thee; Then once more o'er me let your spell be thrown, That I may can you-Sarah, dear, mine own! SARAH! what a funny soond that hes te be sure, an' it's me reet nyem tee. He wants te call me his awn! it's a' settled, it's a sartinty it's settled; he just needs te ax me fethur an' muther, for it's a' reet wi' me. Jinny Thompson's promised us the mahogany tyeble that stands aside the clock, an' me Uncle Bob's gan te myek us a prisint ov a feather bed an' two chairs an' a candlestick he bowt second-hand the tuther day, so thor's glorious prospects, an' if Charley cannel myek eneuff te keep us cumfortable, aw'll gan te wark me-sel (aw's a cap myeker), for thor's ne disgrace iv a wummin workin as lang as thor's ne bairns i' the road. Source: Joe Wilson,(author) Songs and Drolleries, 1890. |
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Subject: Lyr Add: PRETTY SWEETHEART JESSIE MAY (Joe Wilson) From: *#1 PEASANT* Date: 11 May 17 - 07:23 AM Pretty Sweetheart, Jessie May OH! Jessie, I am often doubting That your love for me is true, Ever changeful, laughing,-pouting, Thus I often think of you; Could I know its long endurance, Lighter then my heart would be, Give me but that dear assurance, Then I'd live and love but thee. I like but not a night's flirtation, Scenes that never bring forth joy, They dull each happy expectation, Every blissful thought alloy; Could I know that nought would sever Hopes that linger night and day, Then I'd call you mine for ever, Pretty sweetheart, Jessie May. Oblige ivrybody if ye can, an' if ye cannet, dinnet hinder onybody else for dein't. Source: Joe Wilson,(author) Songs and Drolleries, 1890. |
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Subject: Lyr Add: the day 0' life. From: *#1 PEASANT* Date: 11 May 17 - 07:20 AM the day 0' life. TWES a bright sunny morn when Bill Tait's bairn we born An' the glasses went roond tiv a reet merry teun: An' the muther she smiled at the fethur se wild Wi' joy at the birth ov a fine healthy sun: Its bit soft cheek wes kiss'd, an' its muther weel blist, An' thor health drunk agyen, an' agyen, te convey Thor neybors' rispect wi' the best 0' gud feelin: What a sweet little pictor-the dawn 0' Life's day! Next door, a grand weddin, each young heart te gladden Myed curious heeds pop throo windows an' doors, Te see the bride blushin, an' a' the crood pushin Te welcum Dick Scott an' the lass he adores; Wi' sic a fine party,-contented an' hearty, The fleet moments rowl onward, unheeded, away: May the bride's life be as sweet as her luver's heart's leet, What a dear little pictor-the noon 0' Life's day! Close at hand, doon the street, i' the dusk 0' the neet, Bill Carr, sair wi' suffrin, lay waitin for Deeth, He sadly luckt roond, but nyen there cud help him, An' darkness set in as he drew his last breeth: The birth ov a bairn's like the dawn 0' the mornin, An' a weddin's the noon, wi' the sun's cheerin ray, An' Deeth's the dark neet that's se sartin te follow, The dreary dark pictor that closes Life's day! -Source: Joe Wilson,(author) Songs and Drolleries, 1890. |
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Subject: RE: Songs/Poems of Joe Wilson From: *#1 PEASANT* Date: 11 May 17 - 06:44 AM Source: Joe Wilson,(author) Songs and Drolleries, 1890. |
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Subject: Joe Wilson (1841-1872) From: Joe Offer Date: 10 May 17 - 09:37 PM I found the index for NINETEENTH-CENTURY ENGLISH LABOURING-CLASS POETS 1800-1900 VOLUME III 1860-1900 here:
Here's the part on Joe Wilson: Joe Wilson (1841-1872) 145 (30) From Tyneside Songs and Drolleries. 147 (28) Readings and Temperance Songs (1891) [1867] Life o' Joe Wilson (as far as It's Gyen) 147 (1) Me Muther's Warnin! 148 (1) Aw Wish Yor Muther Wad Cum 149 (2) Ne Wark 151 (1) The Gallowgate Lad! 152 (2) The Drapers' Appeal 154 (1) In Memory of the Hartley Catastrophe 155 (1) The Row upon the Stairs 156 (2) Jesmond Pic-Nic 158 (1) Acrostic 159 (1) Hannah's Black Eye 159 (1) Dinnet Clash the Door! 160 (1) Jimmy's Gettin Wark! 161 (1) It's Time te Gan te Bed 162 (2) Says He! Say Aw! 164 (1) Wor Tyneside Tallint Gyen! 165 (1) Benny `ill not Gan te Scheul! 166 (1) Hungry Geordey! 167 (1) Charity! 168 (2) If Deed Foaks Com te Life Agyen! 170 (1) The Strike 171 (1) Deeth i' the Street 172 (3) |
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Subject: RE: Lyr Add: In Memory of the Hartley Catastrophe From: Joe Offer Date: 10 May 17 - 09:32 PM This poem is mentioned in NINETEENTH-CENTURY ENGLISH LABOURING-CLASS POETS 1800-1900 VOLUME III 1860-1900 Edited by John Goodridge Associate Editor Bridget Keegan There's a pre-print excerpt here: http://irep.ntu.ac.uk/id/eprint/7371/1/196122_134%20Goodridge%20Preprint%20Converted%20WM.pdf |
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Subject: RE: Lyr Add: LAUGHING EYES. From: Joe Offer Date: 10 May 17 - 08:56 PM Got source information for any of these, Conrad? Is Joe Wilson the singer or the songwriter for them? The more context you can provide, the easier people can appreciate what you're posting. Otherwise, it's like you're just dumping a bunch of threads that nobody's likely to read. Please don't use ALLCAPS in thread or message titles. The guidelines for posting songs are in the FAQ. If you are posting a number of songs from a single source, consider posting them all in the same thread (I combined all your threads into this existing one, and it was a lot of unnecessary work). If you expect discussion of a particular song, then there should be a separate thread for the song. Use the name of the source as your THREAD title, and the name of the song (in Title Case) in the message title. In the text of the message, post the name of the song in ALLCAPS, then the songwriter name (if any) on the second line (or: from the singing of Joe Bazooka). Then skip a space, then the lyrics. The CHORUS should be introduced by the word CHORUS. After the lyrics, include source information and any background notes. For ease of reading, if you include chords, they should be in a separate section in the same or subsequent message, after you've posted the lyrics of the song. Thanks. -Joe- |
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Subject: Lyr Add: LAUGHING EYES. From: *#1 PEASANT* Date: 10 May 17 - 08:24 PM LAUGHING EYES.-Joe Wilson I LOVE to gaze on laughing eyes, Bright eyes that seem forever smiling, They make such happy thoughts arise, With joyous look each heart beguiling And yet how often they deceive, Those lovely eyes, so careless glancing, Their truth, alone, we but believe, Such power have they, each mind entrancing. May sorrow never cast a cloud, Upon those eyes serenely beaming; Oh never may dark care enshroud, And dull the lustre of their gleaming; Could I but know those orbs of joy From holy virtue ne'er would sever I'd pray might nought that bliss alloy, Smile on, sweet eyes, smile on for ever! A frind i' need's the frind that's deed, if he leeves ye se much an 'eer te console yorsel with. It keeps him i' yor memry, ye knaw. |
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Subject: Lyr Add: IN MEMORY OF THE HARTLEY CATASTROPHE From: *#1 PEASANT* Date: 10 May 17 - 08:22 PM IN MEMORY OF THE HARTLEY CATASTROPHE (Joe Wilson) January 16th, 1862. By which 204 Men and Boys were buried alive in New Hartley Pit. By the watch-fire's glow, 'mid the falling snow, There reigns a death-like gloom, Whilst prayers are murmured for those below Immur'd in a living tomb. With a tearless eye, and despairing sigh, Too sad, too griev'd to weep, The watcher's wild and heart-rending cry Is heard on the cold pit-heap. 'Mid the shaft's foul air, the brave searchers dare Its dangers to defy; "Have mercy, O God!" is the last sad prayer Of the miners doom'd to die. Again from below, to the scene of woe The searchers bold appear, Their words breathe hope, while their glances show Dread signs of desponding fear. Seven days have pass'd, they are found at last, Too LATE, sweet life to save, For death's mighty spell is o'er them cast, In that dark and fearful grave. Breathe forth a prayer for bereav'd ones there, Whose peace of mind hath fled, Good Lord, soothe with thy heav'nly care Those who mourn the hapless dead. |
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Subject: Lyr Add: MIIDNIGHT THOUGHTS From: *#1 PEASANT* Date: 10 May 17 - 08:21 PM MIIDNIGHT THOUGHTS -Joe Wilson Written at Midnight, July 18th, 1859. I GAZED on the dark blue sky, One summer's still midnight, And my lips breathed forth a sigh As I long'd for the morning's light, For sleep had deserted mine eyes, And I could not calmly rest, And again as I look'd at the skies, My heart beat quick in my breast. What thoughts then flewthrough my brain At that silent hour of night, Scenes past, were present again, Like a vision-supremely bright; Dear forms appear'd to mine eyes, And faces I long had mourn'd, Seemed around me again to rise, And the once happy past return'd. |
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Subject: Lyr Add: AUD NELLY'S ADVICE TIV HER DOWTOR! From: *#1 PEASANT* Date: 10 May 17 - 08:19 PM AUD NELLY'S ADVICE TIV HER DOWTOR! (Joe Wilson) A RECITASHUN. AUD Nelly plied her needle, byeth careful, fine, an' swiftly, Then she gazed wi' muther's pride iv her bonny dowtor's een, Her mind wi' past joys reelin, she blist the dear form kneelin, Sweet coonsil then revealin te that sweet flooer o' sivinteen. Maw eumley pet, maw hinny, aw' prood te see yor bonny, But words o' praise oft myek eonseet, an' beauty oft brings pain. Aw'd like te see ye cosey, yor cheeks keep reed an' rosey, As bloomin as a posey, but aw dinnit want ye vain! Cawshus i' yor Iuv affairs, yor shoor te fettle canny, So dinnit thraw me words aside for owt that lads may say; For oft they'll sweer devoshun, an' tell ye thor greet noshun, But like the tretch'rous oshin, they smile an' then betray. It's not the fyece that myeks the man, fine eyes, or hair that's corly, An honest heart an' kindly hand's far better then the pair; So when ye gan a cortin, spoil not yorsel wi' flortin, Or else ye'll find ne sport in the lot that's for yor share. If dancin ye shud fancy, mind weel what steps yor takin, For one false step oft puts foaks rang, ne mair to be put reet. For gud an' bad steps glancin, i' life, itsel, like dancin, We've a' te tyek wor chance in, an' tyest byeth soor an' sweet. Let uther foaks' affairs alyen, if ye mind yor awn ye've plenty, An' nivor myek a practice o' gannin ootte tea, For there thor's often clashin, wi' mischief myekin pashun, If they'd tawk 'boot nowt but fashun, then, an' only then, 'twad de. Keep the hoose byeth clean an' tidy,-dinnit gan a drinkin, A drunkin wife's the plague o' life, a dorty wife's the syem! Wi" neybors dinnet gossip,-wi' scandal gud nyems toss up, Ye'd mair need gan an' poss up the claes ye've left at hyem. Attend yor hoosehold duties wi' heart byeth leet an' cheerful, An' let yor gudman's cumforts be yor studdy a' throo life, An' stop his mooth frae sweerin, wi' nice kind words, endearin, Thor's nowt te man see cheerin as a true an' canny wife! |
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Subject: Lyr Add: LONG HAVE I SADLY WAITED. From: *#1 PEASANT* Date: 10 May 17 - 08:16 PM LONG HAVE I SADLY WAITED-Joe Wilson LONG have I sadly waited For a dear and treasured word, From the wand'rer o'er the sea, To dispel the sad discord Raging here within me, With torture night and morn; For oh, to live in sad suspense, Uncertain and forlorn. Long have I sadly waited For a message o'er the wave, To tell me if the wand'rer lives, Or sleeps ina foreign grave; Oh send me word, some kindly hand, A line but though it be, To lighten dark and dreary hours, My soul's impatience free. |
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Subject: Lyr Add: CHAMPIONS O' THE TYNE From: *#1 PEASANT* Date: 10 May 17 - 08:14 PM CHAMPIONS O' THE TYNE (Joe Wilson) Cheers for the careful, the canny, the clivor Champions combined on wor coally river, Clasper an' Candlish-the boast o' past days, Chambers an' Cooper-the theme o' men's praise |
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Subject: Lyr Add: ON PRESENTING A FAIRING TO A FAIR LADY A From: *#1 PEASANT* Date: 10 May 17 - 08:13 PM ON PRESENTING A FAIRING TO A FAIR LADY AT NEWCASTLE FAIR.-Joe Wilson MINE own FAIR darling, FAIR as morning's light, Sweet gem of nature's morn, and charm of night, FAIR-er than the FAIR-est, with no compare, 'Tis FAIR that one so FAIR should have a FAIR; Af-FAIRS of love, perhaps, the heart might vex, And FAIR-lywith a FAIR, thy mind perplex; Yet with FAIR-neSS"for FAIRS"my love I'd tell, I'd rather say well-FARE than say FARE-well! Without my FAIR-y, poor would be my FARE, Then take thy FAIR-ing from my humble care. |
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Subject: Lyr Add: ABSENT FRIENDS. From: *#1 PEASANT* Date: 10 May 17 - 08:11 PM ABSENT FRIENDS. -Joe Wilson As in nights of dreary darkness, There may be a flitting ray, A chaste glow of light so starry bright, To clear the douds away; In lone moments of dark sadness, HOPE will lighten ev'ry pain, Till the soul knows not its gladness, And our hearts their peace regain. Though oft in sad lamentation We mourn for an absent friend, Each relation or separation, A cheering word we send; Hope! thou star of light, we listen To thy pure consoling strain; WELCOME in each eye will glisten, Absent friends to meet again. Wife Wisdom's worth but little, if te worldly joys I t turns a scornful ear, myeks luv a jest; F or i' this simple verse ye'll find a neym Entwined wi' ivry bliss te myek man blest. |
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Subject: Lyr Add: BOB HOBSON'S ADVICE TIll HIS SON. A RECI From: *#1 PEASANT* Date: 10 May 17 - 08:09 PM BOB HOBSON'S ADVICE TIll HIS SON. A RECITASHUN.- Joe Wilson BOB HOBSON sat before the fire, An' puff'd his baccy smoke, A pictor ov a gud aud sire, That can give or tyek a joke; He puff'd away, luck'd wiselyroond, Wink'd slyly at young Dan, Then like a mortal wisdom croon'd, Thus tiv his son began : Maw canny lad, ye've noo arrived At a wild, unsartain age, So wi' me tung aw've just contrived A lesson worth a sage : Luck forward te the sunny side, The dark side scarcely scan, An' nivor deal wi' dirty pride, If ye want te be a man. Tyek a' advice that ye can get, Turn not yor heed away, Or let foaks put ye i' the pet, Wi' anything they say; For inforrnashun myeks us wise, An' shows which way te steer; Be careful,-if ye want te rise, Be canny wi' the beer. Keep close yor mooth I-watch weel yor words, Afore ye let them oat, For thowtless speeches myek discords, An' put foaks sair aboot; Keep passion always frae yor door, Send selfishthowts away, An' nivor let foaks chawk a score Ye think ye cannet pay! Let honesty yor motto be, Mark weel these words, aw say, For if thor worth ye dinnet see Ye'll mebbies rue the day; Save up, te thrive, mind weel yor pense, Put not yor claes j' pawn, But keep them oat, yorsel te mense, Thor's nyen fits like yor awn! Dinnet tell lees, sic ackshuns scorn, Unworthy ov a man, Let truth as pure as ye war born, For ivor be yor plan; Stick close te frinds that ye've fund true, Strite-forward, kind, an' free; De nowt te myek yor conshuns rue, An' a "Happy Man" ye'll be ! Bonny sally wheatley Ne wark Gallowgate lad |
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Subject: Lyr Add: THE TWIN-BROTHERS' BIRTHDAY. BY JOSEPH W From: *#1 PEASANT* Date: 10 May 17 - 08:07 PM Joe Wilson THE TWIN-BROTHERS' BIRTHDAY. BY JOSEPH WILSON. TO HIS TWIN BROTHER, THOMAS WILLSON. Dear brother Tom, Our birthday's come, And now we're seventeen; 'Mid smiles and tears, Seventeen long years Have glided like a dream Since first we saw a mother's smile Beam on us like a ray Of pleasing hope throughout life's path, To cheer us on our way. And now we gaze Upon those days, Which memory paints so fair, When we have played, And often strayed Far from a parent's care; We think upon our childhood's days, Affection then expands Throughout our breasts, with brother's love We grasp each other's hands. Together we Will ever be As we have ever been; Let years roll on, We think upon Each fond and cherished scene, Since first we came into this world, Together, yet one in heart, Let us then hope, and trust in God, We ne'er will have to part. Me muthers warnin |
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Subject: Lyr Add: Charley's Across the Sea-Joe Wilson From: *#1 PEASANT* Date: 07 May 06 - 11:31 AM CHARLEY'S ACROSS THE SEA (Joe Wilson) Teun-"Even me." Sadly aw sing, for me sweetheart's away, Over the sea he's been mony a day, Mony a day he's been pairted frae me, Leaving us grieving for him on the sea. Korus. Bonny bright moon, send Charley te me, Myek his path leet an' safe on the sea; Shine on ye stars, an' sparkle as free, Charley's across the sea. Often me heart 'ill se mournfully beat, Waitin te watch for the moon'd bonny leet, Watchin the stars, for aw've ne thowts o' sleep, Withoot thor a' glistnin as bright on the deep. Often aw've thowt I' the lang weary neet, The moon an' the stars wad keep Charley reet; Withoot them aw fancy an' dreed thor's a storm, An' Charley's I' danger, ne mair he'll return. Then shine on, bright moo, byeth radiant an' warm, Keep Carley frae danger, keep him free frae harm, An' brighten his pathway se wild on the sea, An' send back me sweetheart, me Charley, te me. -Joe Wilson |
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Subject: Lyr Add: Try, Maw Hinny, Try!-Joe Wilson From: *#1 PEASANT* Date: 07 May 06 - 11:25 AM Try, Maw Hinny, Try! Teun-"Kill or Cure." "Aw cannet de without it, for Aw feel see awful dry, man! Aw's sure aw've tried se money times, An' noo thnk shem te try, man!" "Huts, lad!" says aw, "just try agyen, Wiv a resolution strang! Ye'll seun find oot the difference, An' ye'll say that aw'm not rang. Korus. "So try, maw hinny, try, An' ye'll not be always dry: But ye'll find yor-sel a better man, So try, maw hinny, try! "Aw mind the time when, Just like ye, Aw cuddent de without it; Aw drunk as much as ye de noo,-- Ye heh ne cawse te doot it. Aw've thowt that nowt wad quench me thirst, An ' aw've suffer'd a' the day, Until aw had the sense te knaw Aw wad heh te change me way. "The mair ye drink the mair yor dry, For mair yor always cravin- What gud can beer or spirits de? Is't health or senses savin? The burning thirst ye feel just noo, Whey, the drinkin's sure te feed; An' hat's the gud o tyeken stuff Ye shud knaw ye divvent need? "Just ye leave off the beer at once, An' then ye'll seun get reet, man; When once yor of't, ye'll want ne mair- Gud health's the greetest treat, man. A sober man's not always dry, Ti's not nattril that he shud; So if ye'll tyek a frind's advice, Hev a try for yor awn gud!" -Joe Wilson |
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Subject: Lyr Add: Aw's Froced Te Gan Away!-Joe Wilson From: *#1 PEASANT* Date: 07 May 06 - 11:17 AM Aw's Forced Te Gan Away! Teun-"What's a' the steer, Kimmer?" 'Aw's forced te gan away, hinny, Aw's really forced te gan, Thor's new wark her for me, hinny, What can aw de but gan?" "Cheer up, me lad, stop where ye are," Says she, se kind te me, "Thor's surely something will turn up, Sum canny job for ye; Stop where ye are, maw canny man, Ye'd better be at hyem, Then leave yor fam'ly lonely here; Ye'll seun get wark agyen!" "Aw cannet see ye starve, hinny; If i' some distant toon Aw fall in for a job, hinny, Aw'll send sum munnyu doon; Te keep byeth ye an' bairns a' reet, Aw'll. hev te gan away. It's ne gud stopping starving here, For new ark brings ne pay!" "Stop where ye are, stop here," says she, "Ye'd better be at hyem; If ye keep stiddy, ye'll get wark, Yor startin te did then!" "Aw's lickt for what te de, hinny. Ne maister 'ill trust me, If they find oot aw've lost me wark Throo getting on the spree; Aw's mad, lass, when aw think o' ye The think throo drink aw'm deun!' Says she, "Cheer up, an tyek the pledge, A job 'ill turn up seun; Then divvent mention gawn away, Stop wi' the bairns an' me, Let's strive te de the best we can, Aw'll not reflect on ye!" -Joe Wilson |
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Subject: Lyr Add: The Horrors -Joe Wilson From: *#1 PEASANT* Date: 07 May 06 - 11:09 AM The Horrors! Teun: "Erin go Bragh." Oh, hinny! wor Geordey's been bad wi' the horrors, What pain he mun suffer-aw thowt he wad choke. The docter said it wes "Dileerium Trimmins," But really aw thowt he wes seized wiv a stroke. We put him te bed, but he lay there an' shiver'd, Thos wet on his broo stud like se mony peas; As cawd as a corpse tho hapt up I' warm blankets, We hardly cud tell what te de for his ease. His eyes hoo they glared;- like a madman he started, An' screamed, quite unorthly, that sumthing he saw; Then cried like a bairn, "If we only wad save him Frae sumthing before him, he'd seun let us knaw For days he'd been haunted, for days he'd been frighten'd, Wi' sum fearful monster, se near te Deeth's brink!" Aw shuddre'd te witness the scene ov his madness, A victim te nowt but the Demon o' Drink! He retched an' he threw i' the high ov his anauish, The blud left his cheek, an' he lay there i' pain; His moans rung the hearts ov his bruthers that held him, An' what he's gyen throo, whey, aw cannet explain. But, oh, lads, if tis is the sequil o' plissure, Gie ne such injoymint, maw hinny, te me; If the penalty's either the grave or the 'sylum, Aw cannet imagine where plissure can be. -Joe Wilson |
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Subject: Lyr Add: A Happy Neet At Hyem!-Joe Wilson From: *#1 PEASANT* Date: 07 May 06 - 10:34 AM A Happy Neet At Hyem! Teun-"Newcastle is my Native Place." Let poets sing I' praise o' scenes Where they injoymint find; But, lads, we hevint far te seek Till we can easily win'd. What can a man wish for better, An' nivvor need think shem Te myek't his boast that he can spend A happy neet at hyem? Korus. A happy neet at hyem, A happy neet at hyem, Wi' bairns an' wife, the joy o' life, A happy neet at hyem. When tired wiv his daily toil,, He sits doon tiv his tea, Wi' sum nice tyesty-bite, that myeks The bairns cling roond his knee: Thor bonny eyes a welcum give That they can hardly nyem: Hoo can he help but wi'; them spend A happy neet at hyem? The little lad 'ill imitate, Wi' paper upside doon, His fethur, as he reads the news That's's published I' the toon. The muther sings an' sews away; The dowter dis the syem: An' ivry one's content te myek A happy neet at hyem. An' them that lead a sober life, True happiness like this Can find te myek thor life serene- An earthly scene o' bliss. Thor happy oot, thor happy in, Such canny foals like them, That myek't thor care te always share A happy neet at hyem. -Joe Wilson |
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Subject: Lyr Add: I' The Gloom-Joe Wilson From: *#1 PEASANT* Date: 07 May 06 - 10:28 AM I' The Gloom. Teun-" The Baltic Fleet." Thor's a heart that's sadly beatin I' the gloom; Thor's an eye that's sadly weepin I' the gloom; For the one that shud be there Te myek leet her heavy care, An' her bitter grief te share, An' te drive away despair. Korus. But thor's not one te cheer her, I' that dark an' dreary room: Her life's a lang an' weary neet- For iver I' the gloom. What's the mem'ry ov her courtship. I the gloom? An a marriage that's browt hardship I' the gloom? Her forst-born wes three eers aud, When the poor bit thing teuk bad, An' it now lies stiff an' cawd 'Slide the muther nearly mad. But thor's not one, etc. An' o' hyem he's nivvor thinking, An' its gloom, For the drunkord's away drinkin Frae the gloom; An' he'll say it's his belief That the drink 'ill kill his grief, An' that he's the mourner chief- But can that give her relief? For thor's not one, etc. Near the deeth-bed ov her darling, I' the gloom Weak an' weary, hearly faintin, I' the gloom. Where's the one that voo'd te share All her trouble an' her care? For the mourneer's lonely there, Wi' ne comrade but despair. An' thor's not one te cheer her, I' that dark an' dreary room: Her life's a lang an' weary neet- For iver i' the gloom. -Joe Wilson |
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Subject: Lyr Add: The Life Ov A Spunge!-Joe Wilson From: *#1 PEASANT* Date: 07 May 06 - 10:27 AM The Life Ov A Spunge! Tuen-"Cappy's the Dog." He'll start i' the morning before it's dayleet, Not fit te be seen-he's a mis'rable seet; When decent men's off on thor jorney te wark, He's prowlin aboot like a thief I' the dark. Korus Then I' morning or neet, I' the dark or dayleet, Ye'll find ye'll de reet Te keep clear ov a spunge! He's drunk all his munny-small wages had he; He'll tell ye he's hard-up wi' hevin a spree: He'll beg for a jill, whingin oot, "Save me life!" But nivvor exclaims, "Save me bairns an' me wife!" He's selfish an' greedy, an' lazy as weel; The slops an' the leavins he'll beg or he'll steal. The glasses he'll drain if thor's nebody near; An' guzzle up owt if it's only called Beer! He'll laff twice as hearty as ye, if yor glad; He'll shake his greet heed, if yor onyway sad: His sympathy's welcum te ony one here, If they'd only stand him a pennorth o' beer? He's yor frind for a hapney: just give him one, If they call ye Jack, he'll seun chrissin ye John! He'll claim yor acquaintance wi' plenty o' cheek, Like the thing that he is - a mean, back-bitin sneak! I' dayleet or dark, iv his rags an' his dirt, Keep clear o' the wretch,-cut his beggin quite short; Nivvor once iv his company myek ony plunge, Thor's nowt that deserves mair contempt then a spunge! -Joe Wilson |
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Subject: Lyr Add: When A' Thor Memry's Gyen-Joe Wilson From: *#1 PEASANT* Date: 07 May 06 - 10:27 AM When A' Thor Mem'ry's Gyen Teun-"Little Dick." They tell us that aw lay last neet Upon the kitchen floor, An' wakened nearly ivry one Wi' maw greet heavy snore. They thowt aw'd choke, so lowsed me tie, An' put us te bed then; It's time that men shud drink ne mair When a' thor mem'ry's gyen. They tell us that aw drunk cawd tea, An' thowt that it wes beer; Then put me seegar's reed-het end Inte me mooth;-aw fear It mun be true, for it's sair noo, An' plissure aw heh nyen: It's time that men shud drink ne mair When a' thor mem'ry's gyen. They tell us that aw broke a jug, An' nearly killed the cat; Then stirr'd the fire wi' me stick, An' sat doon on me hat. Aw kiss'd me sweetheart's muther twice, Mistaken her for Jane: It's time that men shud drink ne mair When a' thor mem'ry's gyen. They tell us that aw teuk me coat Off fower times te fight; An' swore that a' me greetest frinds At me had sum greet spite. Aw contradicted ivry word Wi' them that set us hyem: It's time that men shud drink ne mair When a' thor mem'rys gyen. They tell us that aw stagger'd in, Then wanted te be oot; An' smash'd the clock-fyece wi' me fist, An' tossed the things aboot. An' when they mentioned twelve o'clock, Aw swore that it west ten: It's time that men shud drink ne mair When a' thor memry's gyen. They tell us that aw wes se bad, The browt the doctor in: It mun be true-aw feel se noo, An' shakey-what a sin! Aw've been a feul throo getting full; Me heed's just like a styen: It's time that men shud drink ne mair When a' thor mem'ry's gyen. The above can also be used as a Recitation -Joe Wilson |
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Subject: Lyr Add: Ye Talk Aboot Cheps Bein Bashful-Wilson From: *#1 PEASANT* Date: 07 May 06 - 10:25 AM Ye Talk Aboot Cheps Bein Bashful. Teun-"Varry Canny." Ye may talk aboot cheps bein bashful, aw say, But thor's nyen that aw've seen like wor Neddy, Tho' a canny young chep iv his awn quiet way, An' byeth sober, gud-hearted, an' stiddy; He'd behave he'sel reet i' the cumpny o' men, But wi' lasses, whey man, he wes frighten'd, For he'd stammer an' stutter, an' blush like a bairn, The least notis his narvishness heighten'd Noo ye talk aboot cheps bein bashful. He courted fat Nan, at least she courted him, She's a greet big stoot las, wi' ne shyness, But a real handy hoose-keeper, honest an' trim, Wiv a tung that myeks up for Ned's dryness; She knew if she waited he'd nivvor propose, So te start frae the forst as the best un, One fine neet she popt a kiss under his nose, An' then she te him popt the question. Noo ye talk aboot cheps bein bashful. Of coorse Ned conseted, he cuddent say No! An' the Register Office he mention'd, He thowt 'twad be private, he diddent like show, Espeshly when tyekin a wench in't; But that morning before half the sarvis wes deun, A' the neybors cum croodin an' puishin, An' cheerin the pair all the way they did run, The bride smiled, but the bridegroom wes blushin. Noo ye talk aboot cheps ein bashful. At hyem, Ned sat up if a corner, as grim As if 'twes a funeral party, An' he thowt tiv he'sel that they waddent miss him, 'Mang as mony se jovial an' hearty; So at neet when he fund all the cump'ny gawn, Efter mony boos, scrapins an dodgins, He thowt it wad be best te follow thor plan, So he hurried away tiv his lodgins. No ye talk aboot cheps being bashful. Next morning, he thowt ti wad only be reet Te call an' see hoo his wife fettled, Says she, "Noo, Ned, where did yeget te last neet?" Ye may a' lay yor life she was nettled! "What's the reason ye left us last neet be myself? Aw's yor wife, but ye myest myek us doot it!' Says he, "If aw'd stopt, an' the neybors heard tell, De ye not think they'd all talk'd aboot it?" Noo ye talk aboot cheps bein bashful. Says she, "If the neybors knew ye war away, For talking they'd hev a gud reason, An' if aw hevint a mind te believe what ye say, Sum uther lass ye might be squezin." Efter this, cud Ned help but te stop biv her side, An' twelve months efter hoo his ey glisten'd, When the Queen, canny body, sent doon tiv his bride, Three pund for three bairns as a prisint! Noo ye talk aboot cheps bein bashful. -Joe Wilson |
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Subject: Lyr Add: The Glorious Vote Be Ballot-Joe Wilson From: *#1 PEASANT* Date: 07 May 06 - 10:24 AM The Glorious Vote Be Ballot Teun- "The Pawnshop Bleezin" Let Keeside spooters preech away, An' gie wor laws greet praises, An' bliss Reform, that's gain'd the day, Abuv the world te raise us; Let greet an' small at once rejoice, That Vote be Ballot's been wor choice, That wi' this plan we've fund the way Where iv'ry voter gets fairplay, Throo glorious Vote be Ballot. The voter hes ne bother noo, Nowt cud work ony better, He just receives a caird or two, A sorkler or a letter, Te ask him just te sign his nyem, Or faithful promise, that's the syem, That he'll on sum porticklor day, For this candidate gan strite away, An' nobly Vote be Ballot. I' the morn afore he's oot o' bed, Thor's plenty calls te see him, Byeth tawky cheps an' cheps weel-breed, Tri I thor turns te de him. They'll start an' run the tethers doon An' myek him thaink he owns the toon, Byeth one an' a' his vote ill crave, For a day he's mair a lord than slave, Throo glorious Vote be Ballot. The powlin day at last arrives, He's mair a lord then ivor, The canvassers, like bees roond hives Attend him noo se clivor. A cab stands proudly at the door, If he's not been I' one before, They kindly offer him the treat, An' cheer him as he tyeks his seat, Te gan an' Vote be Ballot. The powlin booth he grandly nears, Wi' croods he's noo surrounded, An' hustled in wi' graoans an' cheers, An' pairty strife confounded; He sees the cullors bright an gay, On mony a breest, - as if te say It's aw deun iv a secret way, Election tricks is a' fairplay, Hooray for Vote be Ballot! At neet, when walkin throo the street, He heaers byeth cheers an' howlin, An' pairty fights myeks a' complete, Te leave ne room for growlin;- Hoo secret is the Ballot Box! High words, an' blows, an' ugly knocks, An' enmity as bitter then, Show what a boon it's browt te men, This glorious Vote be Ballot! -Joe Wilson |
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Subject: Lyr Add: Ye Knaw! Ye See!-Joe Wilson From: *#1 PEASANT* Date: 30 Apr 06 - 02:12 PM Ye Knaw! Ye See! Teun-"The Railway Guard." Whenivor ye hear a story tell'd On owt, or on nowt at a' De ye nivvor mind the diff'rint styles? Thor's sum 'ill say ye knaw! An' sum 'ill say ye understand! An' sum 'ill say ye see! At the end ov ivry sentence, So just lissen lads, te me Korus. For ye knaw an' ye see, an' ye understand, An' ye understand, ye knaw, Ye'll find i' story-tellin thor's a lot o' funny ways, But aw's sure this quite licks a'. For instance, aw'll tyek a chep that once Tell'd me his pedigree, As a specimine o' the way foaks tell A story, de ye see? Says he, "Then forst, ye'll understand, Me muther's nyem wes Gee, An' me fethur's nyem Bob Broon, ye knaw, Byeth diffrint quite, ye see! "Me muther's nyem wes nivvor changed, Tho not her falt, he knaw, Me fethur left the toon, ye see, Afore dayleet aw saw; It wassent reet, ye understand, Frae wife an' bairn te flee, But aw warn'd he diddent knaw that Aw wes cumin, de ye see?" What puzzles me myest, ye'll understand Is the habit foaks hes, ye see! I' saying ye knaw an'' ye understand, An' ye see, an' de ye not see? The subject may be grand, ye knaw, Or may be nowt at a', But still foaks say, ye understand, Ye see, besides ye knaw! -Joe Wilson |
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Subject: Lyr Add: The Lads upon the Wear!-Joe Wilson From: *#1 PEASANT* Date: 30 Apr 06 - 01:46 PM The Lads Upon the Wear! Teun-"Aw'll sing ye a Tyneside Sang." I' Sunderland let's sing What shud myek the whole hoose ring, It's a sang that's sartin a' the lads te cheer, For it gladdens ivry toon When thor natives gain renoon, An' thor's hundreds that's deun that upon the Wear. Korus. An' ho, me lads, it myeks me heart se glad Te sing ye a sang te please ye here, Then give a hearty cheer For the lads upon the Wear, Ay a hearty cheer for them upon the Wear! What a greet success they've myed I' myest ivry kind o' trade, Ne shipbuilders I' the world they'll ivor fear, An' greet launches keep thor pride Always on the brightest side, An' the sailors a' declare se on the Wear! They've a toon that's often praised, An' byeth Pier an' Park they've raised, An' examples set tiv uthors far an' near; When the Nine Oors Strike begun, It wes gain'd and fairly wun, Forst and foremost, be the lads upon the Wear! The iv nearly ivry sport, Whey, ye'll seldum find them short, An' sum day thor'll be a champein sculler here; Let this always be yor boast, An' yor plissure when ye toast, "May success attend the lads upon the Wear!" -Joe Wilson |
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Subject: Lyr Add: The Flower o' Tyneside- Joe Wilson From: *#1 PEASANT* Date: 30 Apr 06 - 12:24 PM The Flower o' Tyneside. Teun-"She's Black." Me sweetheart's as smart a young lass as ye'll see, She's kind an' she's bonny, an' truthful te me; She's canny, she's hyemly, just myed for me bride, A sweet flower that blooms on the Banks o' Tyneside Her fethur an' muther 'ill miss her that day, When prod o' me trissure aw'll tyek her away; When te maw care an' keeping they fondly confide The sweet flower that blooms on the Banks o' Tyneside. This luv myeks a poor fellow selfish, aw fear, But aw'll not separate them, aw'll tyek a hoose near; As thor bairns an' thor neybors beside them we'll bide, Then they'll not miss se much the sweet Flower o' Tyneside. Aw'm stiddy at wark, an' we'll seun myek't complete, Thor'll not be a hoose furnish'd lik't I' the street; Aw wish twes a palace aw had for me bride, She'd be queen o' them a', wad the Flower o' Tyneside. At ony rate she'll myek't a palace for me, Her true, faithful subject an' consort aw'll be; Aw'll honour me mistress wi' luv an' wi' pride, An' cherish that flower on the Banks o' Tyneside. -Joe Wilson |
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Subject: Lyr Add: Bad Beuts- Joe Wilson From: *#1 PEASANT* Date: 30 Apr 06 - 12:16 PM Bad Beuts. Teun-" Recknin for the Pay." Aw pity the man that weers bad beuts, He'll nivvor get on varry weel, Until thor repair'd, for it's like bad times, When yor beuts gan doon at the heel. Korus Aw'm sure it's a real bad sign That a man's not dein weel, An' thor's nebody anxious Yor cump'ny te keep Where yor beuts is doon at the heel. Suppose ye've got a gud suit o' claes, Ye cannot ony comfort feel, An' ye'll just be considered a seedy swell, When yor beuts is doon at the heel. The tailor 'ill swear at the claes ye wear, An' sum little fault he'll reveal, But ye'll find the cobbler yor only frind, When yor beuts is doon at the heel. Ye'll find invitations te parties scairse, For dancing ye'll get ne appeal, They'll not axe ye te gan tiv a fewn'ril, When yor beuts is doon at the heel, Ye may wlak wi' yor heed stuck up wi' pride, An' slip throo the streets like an eel, But ye'll find yor ower much at one side, If yor beuts is doon at the heel. It's the way o' the world if a chep's hard up, He may try such faults te conceal, But sum busy eye's always sure te spy, When yor beuts is doon at the heel. -Joe Wilson |
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Subject: Lyr Add: The Bobbies I' The Beerhoose-Joe Wilson From: *#1 PEASANT* Date: 30 Apr 06 - 12:08 PM The Bobvbies I' The Beerhoose. Teun-" Anna Maria Jones." Thor wes Geordey, Tom, an' Davey, Three jolly cheps, one neet, Got on the spree at Mistress Smith's A beerhouse 'lang the street. Wi' monny a gill they had thor fill, An' Time flew like the beer; They diddent knaw hoo much had gyen Till closing time wes near. The hoose wes closed, an' still they stopt, An' waddent gan away, As the widow diddent much object, If they wad quiet stay. Ov course they a' said that they wad, An' sittin doon agyen, They myed thor-sels as happy as If they had been at hyem. But, all at once, a dubble knock Myed ivryone start up; Sum spillin what they'd just got in, They hardly got a sup. "Run-hide yor-sels!" says Mistresws Smith, "An' aw'll gan te the door; Just keep as quiet as ye can, The way ye've deun before!" Doon te the cellor Geordey ran; Tom I' the kitchen hid; Than Davey inte the back-yard, Knew nicely hoot e did; An' ivrything luckt a' soreen, An' free frev ony din; In fact, 'twes like an empty hoose When she let the Bobby in. The Peeler then begun te chaff, Wi' monny a gill o' beer; An' whole three-quarters ov a noor He kept them all I' fear; Until he got a fright he'sel, A sharp knock myed him stir; Says he, "Aw'd better hide me-sel, Wor Sarjint's at the door!" He ron doon te the cellor, where He stumbled I' the dark: His nose wes met by Geordey's fist- It left a clivor mark; I' the kitchen next he got the fut; The back-door, then he tried, Where Davey, wiv a friendly kick, Sent Bobby clean outside. The Sarjint cumin roond that way, On duty bent, ne doot, Detarmined te roughly handle The forst one that com oot: But as the Bobby wes the forst, He went doon wiv a run, The time the uthers scampered off, A' laffin at the fun. -Joe Wilson |
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Subject: Lyr Add: Ye've Lost A Whole Half-Croon! From: *#1 PEASANT* Date: 30 Apr 06 - 11:48 AM Ye've Lost A whole Half-Croon! Teun-"Paddy, will you now?" Says Mary te Geordey, "Ye've lost yor munny, Ye say yor the cutest i' the toon; But, like a feul, ye backt the wrong horse, An' ye've gyen an' lost a whole half-croon. Korus "It's a real bad job ye put the munny doon; Ye've gyne an' ye've lost a whole half-croon! "Noo, what de ye knaw aboot horse-racin? Aw divvent intend te run ye doon; But hoo d'ye expect poor foaks te leeve, When ye gan an' loss a whole half-croon? "Ye said ye'd got a tip frae the trainer, An' got me te pledge me best black goon: Te gein ye a lift aw wad pawn'd me shift, But ye've gyen an' lost a whole half-croon? "Ye knaw that eers before ye married us, Ye courted anuther lass doon the toon: Noo, hoo will she get her munny this week, When ye've gyen an' lost the whole half-croon? "Aw advise ye noo tge bet ne mair, lad, Withoot putting nyen o' the munny doon, Or else ye mun haud the stakes yor-sel, An' nivvor ne mair loss a whole half-croon!" -Joe Wilson |
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