Lyrics & Knowledge Personal Pages Record Shop Auction Links Radio & Media Kids Membership Help
The Mudcat Cafemuddy

Post to this Thread - Sort Descending - Printer Friendly - Home

Songs/Poems of Joe Wilson

Related threads:
Folklore: Who is Joe Wilson?/Joe Wilson Biography (19)
Joe Wilson: Farne Archive (9)
Lyr Add: New! Collection of Joe Wilson Songs (3)
Joe Wilson - biographical information (10)
95 Joe Wilson Songs added to Newcassel Sang Book (6)
Lyr Add: He's Gyen te Be a Bobby (Joe Wilson) (7)
Lyr Add: Here's a Tip (Joe Wilson) (3)
(origins) Origins: Keep Yor Feet Still!- is by Joe Wilson (1)
Lyr Add: Its Muther's Cum (Joe Wilson) (3)

GUEST, 22 Apr 06 - 12:34 PM
*#1 PEASANT* 22 Apr 06 - 12:37 PM
*#1 PEASANT* 22 Apr 06 - 12:38 PM
*#1 PEASANT* 22 Apr 06 - 12:39 PM
*#1 PEASANT* 22 Apr 06 - 12:40 PM
*#1 PEASANT* 22 Apr 06 - 12:41 PM
*#1 PEASANT* 22 Apr 06 - 12:42 PM
*#1 PEASANT* 22 Apr 06 - 12:43 PM
*#1 PEASANT* 22 Apr 06 - 03:15 PM
*#1 PEASANT* 22 Apr 06 - 03:28 PM
*#1 PEASANT* 22 Apr 06 - 03:39 PM
*#1 PEASANT* 22 Apr 06 - 04:28 PM
*#1 PEASANT* 22 Apr 06 - 04:55 PM
*#1 PEASANT* 22 Apr 06 - 05:25 PM
*#1 PEASANT* 22 Apr 06 - 05:52 PM
*#1 PEASANT* 22 Apr 06 - 05:53 PM
*#1 PEASANT* 22 Apr 06 - 06:16 PM
*#1 PEASANT* 22 Apr 06 - 07:14 PM
GUEST, 23 Apr 06 - 08:38 AM
*#1 PEASANT* 23 Apr 06 - 08:57 AM
*#1 PEASANT* 23 Apr 06 - 09:06 AM
*#1 PEASANT* 23 Apr 06 - 09:25 AM
*#1 PEASANT* 23 Apr 06 - 09:43 AM
*#1 PEASANT* 23 Apr 06 - 10:53 AM
GUEST,Conrad Bladey 23 Apr 06 - 12:02 PM
*#1 PEASANT* 23 Apr 06 - 12:43 PM
*#1 PEASANT* 23 Apr 06 - 12:53 PM
*#1 PEASANT* 23 Apr 06 - 01:07 PM
*#1 PEASANT* 27 Apr 06 - 12:36 PM
*#1 PEASANT* 27 Apr 06 - 12:51 PM
*#1 PEASANT* 27 Apr 06 - 01:24 PM
*#1 PEASANT* 27 Apr 06 - 02:11 PM
*#1 PEASANT* 27 Apr 06 - 02:36 PM
*#1 PEASANT* 28 Apr 06 - 12:13 AM
*#1 PEASANT* 28 Apr 06 - 12:16 AM
*#1 PEASANT* 28 Apr 06 - 12:18 AM
*#1 PEASANT* 28 Apr 06 - 12:35 AM
*#1 PEASANT* 28 Apr 06 - 12:50 AM
*#1 PEASANT* 28 Apr 06 - 01:03 AM
*#1 PEASANT* 28 Apr 06 - 10:47 AM
*#1 PEASANT* 28 Apr 06 - 11:07 AM
*#1 PEASANT* 28 Apr 06 - 11:08 AM
*#1 PEASANT* 28 Apr 06 - 11:35 AM
*#1 PEASANT* 28 Apr 06 - 11:46 AM
*#1 PEASANT* 28 Apr 06 - 11:54 AM
*#1 PEASANT* 28 Apr 06 - 12:14 PM
*#1 PEASANT* 28 Apr 06 - 12:25 PM
*#1 PEASANT* 29 Apr 06 - 06:02 AM
*#1 PEASANT* 29 Apr 06 - 06:10 AM
*#1 PEASANT* 29 Apr 06 - 06:18 AM
*#1 PEASANT* 29 Apr 06 - 06:27 AM
*#1 PEASANT* 29 Apr 06 - 06:36 AM
*#1 PEASANT* 29 Apr 06 - 06:48 AM
*#1 PEASANT* 29 Apr 06 - 07:27 AM
*#1 PEASANT* 29 Apr 06 - 07:34 AM
*#1 PEASANT* 29 Apr 06 - 07:49 AM
*#1 PEASANT* 29 Apr 06 - 08:49 AM
*#1 PEASANT* 29 Apr 06 - 09:05 AM
*#1 PEASANT* 29 Apr 06 - 09:13 AM
*#1 PEASANT* 29 Apr 06 - 09:21 AM
*#1 PEASANT* 29 Apr 06 - 09:29 AM
*#1 PEASANT* 29 Apr 06 - 09:40 AM
*#1 PEASANT* 29 Apr 06 - 10:03 AM
*#1 PEASANT* 29 Apr 06 - 10:26 AM
*#1 PEASANT* 29 Apr 06 - 10:37 AM
*#1 PEASANT* 29 Apr 06 - 11:47 AM
*#1 PEASANT* 29 Apr 06 - 11:53 AM
*#1 PEASANT* 29 Apr 06 - 12:01 PM
*#1 PEASANT* 29 Apr 06 - 02:43 PM
*#1 PEASANT* 29 Apr 06 - 02:52 PM
*#1 PEASANT* 30 Apr 06 - 11:48 AM
*#1 PEASANT* 30 Apr 06 - 12:08 PM
*#1 PEASANT* 30 Apr 06 - 12:16 PM
*#1 PEASANT* 30 Apr 06 - 12:24 PM
*#1 PEASANT* 30 Apr 06 - 01:46 PM
*#1 PEASANT* 30 Apr 06 - 02:12 PM
*#1 PEASANT* 07 May 06 - 10:24 AM
*#1 PEASANT* 07 May 06 - 10:25 AM
*#1 PEASANT* 07 May 06 - 10:27 AM
*#1 PEASANT* 07 May 06 - 10:27 AM
*#1 PEASANT* 07 May 06 - 10:28 AM
*#1 PEASANT* 07 May 06 - 10:34 AM
*#1 PEASANT* 07 May 06 - 11:09 AM
*#1 PEASANT* 07 May 06 - 11:17 AM
*#1 PEASANT* 07 May 06 - 11:25 AM
*#1 PEASANT* 07 May 06 - 11:31 AM
*#1 PEASANT* 10 May 17 - 08:07 PM
*#1 PEASANT* 10 May 17 - 08:09 PM
*#1 PEASANT* 10 May 17 - 08:11 PM
*#1 PEASANT* 10 May 17 - 08:13 PM
*#1 PEASANT* 10 May 17 - 08:14 PM
*#1 PEASANT* 10 May 17 - 08:16 PM
*#1 PEASANT* 10 May 17 - 08:19 PM
*#1 PEASANT* 10 May 17 - 08:21 PM
*#1 PEASANT* 10 May 17 - 08:22 PM
*#1 PEASANT* 10 May 17 - 08:24 PM
Joe Offer 10 May 17 - 08:56 PM
Joe Offer 10 May 17 - 09:32 PM
Joe Offer 10 May 17 - 09:37 PM
*#1 PEASANT* 11 May 17 - 06:44 AM
*#1 PEASANT* 11 May 17 - 07:20 AM
*#1 PEASANT* 11 May 17 - 07:23 AM
*#1 PEASANT* 11 May 17 - 07:27 AM
*#1 PEASANT* 11 May 17 - 07:31 AM
*#1 PEASANT* 11 May 17 - 07:35 AM
*#1 PEASANT* 11 May 17 - 07:38 AM
*#1 PEASANT* 11 May 17 - 07:41 AM
*#1 PEASANT* 11 May 17 - 07:44 AM
*#1 PEASANT* 11 May 17 - 07:49 AM
*#1 PEASANT* 11 May 17 - 07:51 AM
*#1 PEASANT* 11 May 17 - 06:05 PM
*#1 PEASANT* 12 May 17 - 10:13 PM
*#1 PEASANT* 12 May 17 - 10:36 PM
*#1 PEASANT* 13 May 17 - 12:24 PM
*#1 PEASANT* 13 May 17 - 12:37 PM
*#1 PEASANT* 13 May 17 - 12:49 PM
*#1 PEASANT* 13 May 17 - 01:02 PM
*#1 PEASANT* 13 May 17 - 02:02 PM
*#1 PEASANT* 13 May 17 - 04:27 PM
*#1 PEASANT* 13 May 17 - 04:46 PM
*#1 PEASANT* 13 May 17 - 04:58 PM
*#1 PEASANT* 13 May 17 - 05:07 PM
*#1 PEASANT* 14 May 17 - 12:09 PM
*#1 PEASANT* 14 May 17 - 12:22 PM
*#1 PEASANT* 14 May 17 - 12:36 PM
*#1 PEASANT* 14 May 17 - 12:49 PM
*#1 PEASANT* 14 May 17 - 02:53 PM
*#1 PEASANT* 14 May 17 - 03:04 PM
*#1 PEASANT* 14 May 17 - 08:48 PM
*#1 PEASANT* 14 May 17 - 08:56 PM
*#1 PEASANT* 14 May 17 - 11:13 PM
*#1 PEASANT* 14 May 17 - 11:32 PM
*#1 PEASANT* 15 May 17 - 04:11 PM
*#1 PEASANT* 15 May 17 - 04:36 PM
*#1 PEASANT* 15 May 17 - 05:06 PM
*#1 PEASANT* 15 May 17 - 05:16 PM
*#1 PEASANT* 15 May 17 - 05:29 PM
*#1 PEASANT* 15 May 17 - 05:37 PM
*#1 PEASANT* 15 May 17 - 07:49 PM
*#1 PEASANT* 15 May 17 - 08:00 PM
*#1 PEASANT* 15 May 17 - 08:44 PM
*#1 PEASANT* 15 May 17 - 08:57 PM
*#1 PEASANT* 15 May 17 - 09:15 PM
*#1 PEASANT* 15 May 17 - 09:25 PM
*#1 PEASANT* 16 May 17 - 01:42 PM
*#1 PEASANT* 16 May 17 - 01:52 PM
*#1 PEASANT* 16 May 17 - 02:01 PM
*#1 PEASANT* 16 May 17 - 03:08 PM
*#1 PEASANT* 16 May 17 - 09:51 PM
*#1 PEASANT* 16 May 17 - 10:00 PM
*#1 PEASANT* 16 May 17 - 10:29 PM
*#1 PEASANT* 17 May 17 - 08:26 AM
*#1 PEASANT* 17 May 17 - 09:41 AM
*#1 PEASANT* 17 May 17 - 09:52 AM
*#1 PEASANT* 17 May 17 - 12:23 PM
*#1 PEASANT* 17 May 17 - 12:45 PM
*#1 PEASANT* 17 May 17 - 12:58 PM
*#1 PEASANT* 17 May 17 - 01:08 PM
*#1 PEASANT* 17 May 17 - 01:24 PM
*#1 PEASANT* 17 May 17 - 01:35 PM
*#1 PEASANT* 17 May 17 - 01:59 PM
*#1 PEASANT* 17 May 17 - 02:17 PM
*#1 PEASANT* 17 May 17 - 03:53 PM
*#1 PEASANT* 17 May 17 - 04:02 PM
*#1 PEASANT* 17 May 17 - 08:53 PM
*#1 PEASANT* 18 May 17 - 09:00 PM
*#1 PEASANT* 18 May 17 - 09:10 PM
*#1 PEASANT* 18 May 17 - 09:24 PM
*#1 PEASANT* 19 May 17 - 10:04 PM
*#1 PEASANT* 19 May 17 - 10:14 PM
*#1 PEASANT* 19 May 17 - 10:24 PM
*#1 PEASANT* 20 May 17 - 08:53 AM
*#1 PEASANT* 20 May 17 - 09:06 AM
*#1 PEASANT* 20 May 17 - 09:22 AM
*#1 PEASANT* 20 May 17 - 12:53 PM
*#1 PEASANT* 20 May 17 - 01:10 PM
*#1 PEASANT* 20 May 17 - 01:25 PM
*#1 PEASANT* 20 May 17 - 01:43 PM
*#1 PEASANT* 20 May 17 - 03:22 PM
*#1 PEASANT* 20 May 17 - 05:20 PM
*#1 PEASANT* 20 May 17 - 05:28 PM
*#1 PEASANT* 20 May 17 - 05:45 PM
*#1 PEASANT* 21 May 17 - 01:11 PM
*#1 PEASANT* 21 May 17 - 01:33 PM
*#1 PEASANT* 21 May 17 - 01:53 PM
*#1 PEASANT* 21 May 17 - 02:49 PM
*#1 PEASANT* 21 May 17 - 04:16 PM
*#1 PEASANT* 21 May 17 - 04:36 PM
*#1 PEASANT* 21 May 17 - 07:52 PM
*#1 PEASANT* 21 May 17 - 08:37 PM
*#1 PEASANT* 21 May 17 - 11:57 PM
*#1 PEASANT* 22 May 17 - 12:13 AM
*#1 PEASANT* 22 May 17 - 03:43 PM
*#1 PEASANT* 22 May 17 - 04:09 PM
*#1 PEASANT* 22 May 17 - 04:17 PM
*#1 PEASANT* 22 May 17 - 05:07 PM
*#1 PEASANT* 22 May 17 - 05:18 PM
*#1 PEASANT* 22 May 17 - 05:53 PM
*#1 PEASANT* 22 May 17 - 07:34 PM
*#1 PEASANT* 22 May 17 - 08:55 PM
*#1 PEASANT* 23 May 17 - 06:53 AM
*#1 PEASANT* 23 May 17 - 07:13 AM
*#1 PEASANT* 23 May 17 - 07:21 AM
*#1 PEASANT* 23 May 17 - 08:52 AM
*#1 PEASANT* 23 May 17 - 01:16 PM
*#1 PEASANT* 23 May 17 - 01:27 PM
*#1 PEASANT* 23 May 17 - 03:55 PM
*#1 PEASANT* 23 May 17 - 03:57 PM
*#1 PEASANT* 23 May 17 - 05:08 PM
*#1 PEASANT* 23 May 17 - 05:19 PM
*#1 PEASANT* 23 May 17 - 05:30 PM
*#1 PEASANT* 23 May 17 - 05:55 PM
*#1 PEASANT* 23 May 17 - 07:40 PM
*#1 PEASANT* 23 May 17 - 07:51 PM
*#1 PEASANT* 23 May 17 - 09:24 PM
*#1 PEASANT* 23 May 17 - 11:20 PM
*#1 PEASANT* 24 May 17 - 02:33 PM
*#1 PEASANT* 24 May 17 - 03:13 PM
*#1 PEASANT* 24 May 17 - 04:41 PM
*#1 PEASANT* 24 May 17 - 10:52 PM
Share Thread
Lyrics & Knowledge Search [Advanced]
DT  Forum
Sort (Forum) by:relevance date
DT Lyrics:

Subject: Lyr Add: Me Muther's Warnin (Joe Wilson)
From: GUEST,
Date: 22 Apr 06 - 12:34 PM

Me Muther's Warnin!

                      Me muther often says--"Maw canny lad,
                      It's myekin rhyume that myeks ye varry bad;
                      Yor heed's been achin noo for mony a day,
                      So write ne mair, but thraw the trash away!
                      What gud can't de ye myekin Tyneside sangs,
                      Or useless speeches 'boot foaks' reets and rangs?
                      For poets vary seldum de much gud
                      Wi' owt they say or write,--besides ye shud
                      Tyek care i' what ye say, -whe ye defend,
                      Ye may please sum, but mair ye may offend
                      Wi' what ye just may think as harmless chaff;
                      An ye needent kill yorsel te myek foaks laff!
                      An if wi' study ye shud win a nyem,
                      It 'ill gan ne farther than yor Tyneside hyem!
                      Newcassel taek's a queerish thing te reed,
                      Aw dinnet knaw what put sic i' yor heed:
                      Yor ower young te tell foaks what te de,
                      So write ne mair!-tyek this advice frae me!"

                      Aw's sure aw's sorry that aw thus disploease,
                      An writin sangs, me canny muther teaze,
                      But if aw dinnet write, aw think the syem,
                      Tho maw poor efforts may appear but lyem
                      Te them greet critics, that man's fate can seal,
                      Aw hope thor censure aw may nivor feel;
                      Me constant aim's te please, instruct, amuse,
                      Gud humour and gud will a' roond infuse:
                      Contented, blist, shud aw me end attain;
                      A humble candidate for your regard,
                      Aw sign me-sel Joe Wilson, Tyneside Bard.

                      -Joe Wilson

Post - Top - Home - Printer Friendly - Translate

Subject: Lyr Add: Keep't Dark-Wilson
From: *#1 PEASANT*
Date: 22 Apr 06 - 12:37 PM

Keep't Dark:
                      or, The Wife that Knaws Ivrything
                      A contrast to the Chep that Knows Nowt.

                      Teun--"The Perfect Cure."

                      Aud Mistress Clark wes fond o' clash,
                      She lik'd te hear her tung,
                      She said that tawkin eased the mind,
                      Wi' foaks byeth aud an' young;
                      The chep that knaws nowt's gud advice
                      Wes lost on Mistress Clark,--
                      But mind aw shuddnt menshun this,
                      Aw hope ye'll a' keep't dark!

                      Says Mistress Clark te siv'ral frinds
                      She had one day te tea,
                      Aw wunder what myeks Geordy Hall
                      So fond o' beer an' spree?
                      They say his wife can tyek her gill,
                      An' neether's fond o' wark,--
                      But mind aw shuddint menshun this,
                      Aw hope ye'll a' keep't dark!

                      There's Mary Smith, upon the stairs,
                      A wild an' rakish lass,
                      Aw wunder where she gets her claes,
                      Aw's sure she hes ne brass,
                      They say she's thick wi' Draper Jim,--
                      He's not up te the mark,--
                      But mind aw shuddint menshun this,
                      Aw hope yell a' keep't dark!

                      There's Bella Jones that leeves next door,
                      Got Bessie Thompson's shawl,
                      An' borrow'd Suzie Ratcliffe's goon,
                      Te gan te Hopper's ball,
                      But neether o' them's got them back,
                      Aw think's owt but a lark,--
                      Still mind aw shuddint menshun this,
                      Aw hope ye'll a' keep't dark!

                      Therre's Dollyu Green, that dorty slut,
                      That leeves alang the yard,
                      She flirts wi' ivry lad she meets,
                      She's worthy ne regard;
                      Last neet aw catch'd her on the stairs
                      Wi' Jack the Keyside Clerk;--
                      But mind aw shuddint menshun this,
                      Aw hope ye'll a' keep't dark.

                      There's Mistress Johnson pawns heer claes,
                      As sure as Monday cums:
                      An' drunkin Mary locks the door,
                      For fear she'll get the bums:
                      An' Mistress Black 'ill nivor wesh
                      Her man a shart for wark,
                      But mind aw shuddint menshun this!
                      Aw hope ye'll a' keep't dark!

                      Fat Mistress Jackson likes te clash
                      Lang Jinnie likes her ways;
                      An' Mary Riley starves her bairns,
                      Te get sic dandy cales;
                      Young Peggie Robson's got her bed,
                      Throo sum seducin spark;-
                      But mind aw shuddint menshun this,
                      Aw hope ye'll a' keep't dark!

                      -Joe Wilson

Post - Top - Home - Printer Friendly - Translate

Subject: Lyr Add: Tyneside Lads For Me - Wilson
From: *#1 PEASANT*
Date: 22 Apr 06 - 12:38 PM

Tyneside Lads for Me

                      Teun="Kill or Cure"

                      Noo a' ye lads that's Tyneside born, just coock yor lugs an' lissen,
                      Aw'll gie yor canny toon a turn , an' myek yor goggles glissen;
                      Ye cannet tell hoo glad aw feel, an' me heart it lowps wi' pride,
                      When me voice aw raise te sing i' praise ovv canny aud Tyneside,-

                      Then sing me lads wi' glee, an' happy may ye be,
                      Whack-fal-the-daddy, O!-the Tynesdie lads for me.

                      Luck at the noble buildins grand-the wark o' Richard Grainger,
                      Hoo fine like palaces they stand, the wunder ofv each stranger,
                      Ye may search the world reet throo an' throo, an' travel far an' travel far an' wide,
                      But aw's sure yhe'll nivor find owt like the manshuns o' Tyneside.

                      Twes doon the shore, not varry far, George Stephenson invented
                      The steam engine, so te be a star, forth the the world he sent it,
                      The foaks amazed went nearly crazed, when they saw its leetnin stride
                      An' they a'confess'd thor's nyen can best the lads ov aud Tyneside.

                      Sir William Airmstrang myed a gun- noo it's a reglor wundor,
                      It myed the funky Chinese run, when they heard it roar like thunder,
                      Sum want te say it's just a hoax, an' its merits they deride,
                      But wait a bit he's not deun yit-Sir William of Tyneside.

                      Where will ye find sic pullers, like them on wor coaly river?
                      Far-famed as sturdy scullers, thor se strang se stoot, se clivor,
                      Lang may Chambers an' Cooper leeve, for i' them we can confide
                      What's dearest tiv each honest heart, the honor ov aud Tyneside.

                      So pass the glass, an' chant a stave, an' join its chorus sweetly,
                      I' praise o'Tyneside lads, se brave, they bang the world completely,
                      An' sing this sang wi' voices strang,-let it echo far 'an wide,
                      The greet renoon o' wor canny toon, and the heroes o' Tyneside.

                      -Joe Wilson

Post - Top - Home - Printer Friendly - Translate

Subject: Lyr Add: Canny Aud Crismis!- Wilson
From: *#1 PEASANT*
Date: 22 Apr 06 - 12:39 PM

Canny Aud Chrismis!

                      Teun--"Pull Away Cheerily."

                      Let's sing for aud Chrismis, canny aud Chrismis!
                      A time when the world's leet-hearted an' glad,
                      Let its welcum be hearty, gud-temper'd an' jovial,
                      Cheer up, maw pets, it's a shem te be sad!
                      The beef on the tyeble lucks temptin an' lushus,
                      An' tyests se much sweeter wi' bein the prize;
                      The holly seems noddin, as tho it wes laffin
                      At a' the glad fyeces an' bonny brght eyes.

                      Then sing for aud Chrismis, etc.

                      Hoo happy the meetin, an' cordial the greetin,
                      When foaks bid gud-bye te bad temper an' care,
                      When squeezes an' kisses, an' kind-hearted blisses
                      Fall in abundance, an' young hearts insnare;
                      There's smart little Bella sticks weel te that fella
                      That once set her hyem, de ye think she'd say No!
                      If he offer'd te tyek her te join i' the dancin?
                      He's Twice had her under the Mistletoe Bough!

                      The scene se intrancin, wi' music an' dancin's
                      Eneuff te myek sorrow sink under the din,
                      When kettles keep hummin, an' bleezin an' sparklin,
                      The fires burn brightly as tho they'd join in;
                      Thor's ne Chrismis log, but Big Harry, the cairtman,
                      Te stir up the company, an' cawse a bit fun,
                      Browt a greet lump o' coal, it teuk two men te carry,
                      It 'ill be Chrismis agyen beforfe the bit's deun!

                      And fethurs an' muthers, te be like the tuthers,
                      Cheer up, an' imagine thor young onece agyen,
                      Luckin eftor what passes, -while gud-luckin lasses
                      Click at the grand chance te luck eftor the men;
                      There's blue-eyed young Nanny, byeth cosey an' canny,
                      Grush'd up iva corner wi' young Geordy Knox,
                      But the bairns i' the family 'ill not let him rest there,
                      Thor cravin the lad for a nice Christmis box!

                      Then sing for aud Chrimis, canny aud Chrismis,
                      Frae ivry day trubbil we find a release,
                      When foaks glad an' frindly, cheerful an' kindly,
                      Meet an' shake hands i' the true bonds o' peace;
                      When the fiddler's grand teuns myek hearts lowp wi' plissure,
                      An' feet trip byeth happy an' leet on the floor,
                      While uthers keep singin, the korus high ringin,
                      The joys ov aud Chrismis te fully restore.

                      -Joe Wilson

Post - Top - Home - Printer Friendly - Translate

Subject: Lyr Add: Its Muther's Cum Wilson
From: *#1 PEASANT*
Date: 22 Apr 06 - 12:40 PM

Its Muther's Cum
                      Teun--"When the Kye cums Hyem."

                      Wor Geordy got the bairn te keep,
                      The time his wife wes oot,
                      But till the pet wes fast asleep,
                      He sair wes put aboot;
                      Before his wife wes oot the hoose
                      He wisht her back agyen,
                      At last te Geordy's greet releef,
                      She landid safely hyem.

                      Sleep on, maw bonny bairn,
                      Sleep on, maw canny son,
                      Affecshun watches near ye noo,
                      Sleep on, its muther's cum!

                      "Oh, Geordy, hes the bairn been gud?"
                      Cries Peg, quite oot o' breeth,
                      "Aw thowt ye'd hevv a weary job,
                      It's bizzy cuttin teeth:
                      Aw left its boily on the neuk,
                      Aw thowt the job ye'd curse,
                      The poor thing cried this mornin sair,
                      But yor a clivor nurse!"

                      "Hoo calm it sleeps,-the little pet
                      Like sum wax figor there,
                      Ne trubbil cloods its bonny broo,
                      It's free, as yit, frae care;
                      Are ye not prood o' such a bairn?
                      The only lad we've had,
                      It's nose, its eyes, its mooth, its chin's
                      The pictor ov its dad!"

                      "Luck at its lips, its churry lips,
                      That move when iv its sleep,
                      As tho it dreamt it had the tit
                      Between its lips to keep;
                      Tor's mony a one wad give a croon
                      Te claim him as thor awn,
                      The bliss, the joy o' wedded life's
                      A kind a' bonny bairn!"

                      "Whish't, Geordy, for its stirin noo,
                      Luck at the happy smile
                      That prightens up its bonny fyece,
                      Se sweet, an' free frae guile,
                      Eneuff te myek each sinner blush;
                      Dream on, thor's nowt te fear,
                      Thor's kindly watchers near yor bed,
                      Its dad an' mammy's here!"

                      -Joe Wilson.

Post - Top - Home - Printer Friendly - Translate

Subject: Lyr Add: Newgate Street - Wilson
From: *#1 PEASANT*
Date: 22 Apr 06 - 12:41 PM

Newgate Street

                      Teun--"The Postman's Knock."

                      The day's just begun, an' a bright bleezin sun
                      Sends a fine dazzlin lustor a' roond,
                      When i' famed Newgate Street a' the jolly dogs meet,
                      An' a' the beer-hooses surroond;
                      Thor'sa greet race the day, so they a' myek thor stay,
                      Te get on, an' wiat for the news,
                      That te sum 'ill be glad, an' te uthers be sad,
                      An' a lot o' queer feelins infuse.

                      Laffin an' chaffin when movin alang,
                      Tippin an' tiplin's the way wi' the thrang,
                      Ivry day-frae morning te neet,
                      The sportin lads muster i' Newgate Street

                      Iv a small groop o' three, that seem lickt what te de,
                      Anxshus whispors yor sartin te hear,
                      "It's a deed sartinty!" says one i' the three,
                      "Frev a jockey aw heerd it aw'll sweer,
                      Just back thing-a-bob, an' ye'll find that me gob
                      For tippin's a reggilor don!"
                      When a brave luckin pollis, hard up for a case,
                      Cums up, an' tells them te MOVE ON!

                      It's dinner-time noo, an' a dark luckin few
                      Frae the fact'ries that's a' roond aboot,
                      Cum up iv a hurry, beukmakers te worry,
                      An' lay a' thor pocket-brass oot;
                      "Cum hinny, " says one, "will ye lay three te one?
                      It's nearly Two noo for me wark!"
                      Then the chep wi' the beuk, wiv a droll kind o'luck,
                      Says"Aw'll lay ye'd, but mind ye keep't dark!"

                      "Whe's that wild-luckin man wi' the beuk iv his hand,
                      That's ravin as if he wes mad?"
                      "Whey, it's Dayvis, the preecher, that meddlin aud feul,
                      His impittince baffles the squad:
                      Hoo he sets up his jaw, wiv a sanctified craw,
                      The whole toon 'twad greetly releeve,
                      If they'd tyek him away te Benshim sum day,
                      Withoot hopes ov a ticket o' leeve!"

                      Bliss me, what a din, it's the news that's cum in,
                      "What's wun, canny man? " then's the cry,
                      Thor's a rush, an' a scrush, an excitable push,
                      Then a change te the spectator's eye;
                      Hoo happy thor's sum, when uthers luck glum,
                      Then ye'll hear sum aud-fashion'd chep say
                      "If aw'd only knawn'd a' the hoose aw wad pawn'd
                      Te heh been on the winner the day!"

                      -Joe Wilson

Post - Top - Home - Printer Friendly - Translate

Subject: Lyr Add: Thor's Cumfort Iv a Smoke!-Wilson
From: *#1 PEASANT*
Date: 22 Apr 06 - 12:42 PM

Thor's Cumfort Iv A Smoke!

                      Teun--Bitter Beer."

                      A drink o' beer the heart 'ill cheer,
                      An' myek the mommints glad,
                      But beer withoot a quiet smoke
                      Wad nivor suit this lad;
                      A smoke's the thing,-byeth peer an' king
                      An' poor foaks like thor draw,
                      It's the only thing te myek dull care
                      Dispair te plague us a'!

                      Oh, lads, thor's comfort iv a smoke!
                      Let Rennilds lector throo the world
                      Or let him haud his jaw,
                      Thor's nowt that can console a man
                      Like a quiet frindly draw!

                      Beside the fire's bleein flame,
                      Upon a frosty neet,
                      Surroondid be sum tawky frinds,
                      A smoke myeks a' complete;
                      When teuthewark myeks ye wish yor heed
                      Wes laid at rest belaw,
                      Ye'll often find a greet releef
                      Iv a sweet consolin draw!

                      When trampin on a weary road
                      Withoot a frind or mate,
                      A pipe o'baccy quite revives
                      The sowl's dispondin state;
                      When trubbil shows its ugly fyece
                      Te myek yor sporrits law,
                      Or bother'd wi' sum puzzlin thowt,
                      Thor's cumfort iv a draw!

                      When anxshus fears prey on the mind,
                      Or sorrow sends you share,
                      Or solitude myeks weary time,
                      Whte cloods dispel the care;
                      Gie me me pipe an' half-an-oonce
                      O'shag,--for weel aw knaw
                      The emblim o' domestic peace
                      Is a quiet frindly draw!

                      -Joe Wilson

Post - Top - Home - Printer Friendly - Translate

Subject: Lyr Add: It's Time Te Get Up!- Wilson
From: *#1 PEASANT*
Date: 22 Apr 06 - 12:43 PM

ts Time te Get up!

                      Teun- "The Miller o' the Dee."

                      "Cum Ned, get up!" says young Mary Broon,
                      One morn tiv her lazy man,
                      "It's half-past Five, it's time te get up!
                      So stir, maw hinny, an' gan;
                      Ye lost a quarter yisterday morn,
                      Throo fuddlin wi' Davie Spark,
                      Ye shuddint stop oot se late at neet
                      If ye want te gan te wark?"

                      "Get up, or aw'll shake ye weel," says she,
                      "It's twenty-minnits te Six,
                      Thor's just time te drink a cup o' tea
                      An' hurry yor claes on quick;
                      Last neet-afore ye went te bed,
                      Ye tell'd us te nip yor lug,
                      Or de owt aw like't te waken ye up!"
                      But Ned he still lay snug.

                      "Ten minnits te Six,-gud grashus me,
                      Yor gan te sleep in the day;
                      It may suit ye te lie there an snore,
                      But te me it's owt but play."
                      Then she nipt his ear wiv'her finger nails,
                      An' he rowl'd upon the floor,
                      As the bell o' the factory rung, he growl'd
                      "Ye shud wakint us up before!"

                      "What, wakint ye up afore?" cries she,
                      "Aw've shooted since half-past Five,
                      If ye loss a quaarter ivry morn
                      Ye cannet expect we'll thrive!"
                      "Huts, lass," says he, "cum inte yor bed,
                      Yor eneuff te gie foaks a fright
                      Wi' yor noisy tung,--so haud yor jaw,
                      An' aw'll start at half-past Ite!"

                      "But half-pat Ite's not the time te start
                      For a full day's wark!" says she,
                      "Ye shud tell'd uis that when aw went te bed,
                      Than aw wad knawn what te de;
                      Is't reet that aw shud get up se seun,
                      When ye lie cosey i' bed?
                      The morrow, me man, ye may wakin yorsel,
                      An' see hoo ye like that, Ned!"

                      Next morning Ned wes up wi' the lark,
                      But Mary lay quite still,
                      Till she saw that he intendid wark,
                      Then te show a hoosewife's skill,
                      She lowpt up te tie his brickfist things,
                      An' myek him a cherrin cup;-
                      Noo he thinks the best time bar gannin te bed's
                      The time that he hes te get up.

                      -Joe Wilson

Post - Top - Home - Printer Friendly - Translate

Subject: Lyr Add: She's Gyen Te Place At Jarrow- Wilson
From: *#1 PEASANT*
Date: 22 Apr 06 - 03:15 PM

She's Gyen Te Place At Jarrow

                      Music Composed by Thomas H. Wilson (a nyemsake O' wors),of Newcassel-upon Tyne.

                      A lad wes nivor myed te be without a lass,
                      Or a canny lass te be withoot a lad!
                      The sweetest time o' life's when yor luckin for a wife,
                      But sumtimes, --sumtimes it's nowt but varry sad;
                      Aw wes jolly as cud be, care nivor dwelt wi' me,
                      An' me life wes like a bright sun-shiney day,
                      But noo, it's dull an' dark, an' aw's not up te the mark,
                      Since maw bloomin Bella Johnson went away.

                      Oh! she's gyen te place at Jarrow,
                      An' aw'll nivor find her marrow,
                      Aw wunder what myed Bella gan away?

                      Aw wes singin like a lark ivry day aw went te wark,
                      Like sum bonny fairy dream time quickly flew,
                      The neybors used to say thor wes nyen se blithe as me,
                      An' depend upon't aw'll guarantee 'twes true:
                      But noo, maw cannhy hinnnies, a day's just like a week,
                      An' de what aw will, aw cannet help but fret,
                      For iv yor once i' luv, mind, aw mean for fairs i' luv,
                      The syem lass ye've luv'd, yue cannet weel forget!

                      Aw wad sit beside the fire, an' spin the aud foaks yarns,
                      For they byeth appear'd te think a vast o' me;
                      An' when aw teuk be Bella roond the Market, for a walk,
                      An hoor like the shortest minnit used to flee,
                      But noo it's nowt like then, for aw's not like what aw was,
                      An' aw cannet weel gie vent te what aw'd say,
                      For aw;s se sair confoondid, wi' trubbil aw's surroondid,
                      Oh, aw wunder what myed Bella gan away?

                      That neet we said "gud-bye," a sad tear fill'd Bella's eye,
                      Just as if she'd say-Aw'd rethor stop at hyem!
                      An'aw dinnet think she'd gyen, a frind o' her's tell'd me,
                      If aw'd only gien a hint te change her nyem;
                      But as seun as she cums back, aw'll get me Uncle Jack
                      Te pop the question for us-like a man,
                      But if she dissent cum, O, the thowt on't strikes us dumb,
                      Aw'll send him doon on Sunday-if he''ll gan!

                      -Joe Wilson

Post - Top - Home - Printer Friendly - Translate

Subject: Lyr Add: The Day that We got Married -Wilson
From: *#1 PEASANT*
Date: 22 Apr 06 - 03:28 PM

The Day That We Got Married

                      Teun-"Robin Tamsin's Smiddy"

                      The Tenth o' Mairch wes bleak an' cawd,
                      The day byeth wet an' dreary,
                      When like an honest-meaning lad,
                      A went te wed me dreary;
                      Drest up quite gay, we hied away,
                      At hyem we little tarried,--
                      The ring wes bowt:--an' wed for nowt,
                      The day the Prince got married.

                      Rosettes wes stuck upon each breest,
                      An' merry bells war ringin,
                      When swaggrin throo the crooded streets,
                      Gud korus we war singin;
                      Processions grand, wi' splendid bands
                      Alang wi' cheers we hurried,
                      An' let foaks knaw, wi' shoot an' craw,
                      That Mall an' me got married.

                      At last we a' arrived at hyem,
                      Te tyest the weddin dinner,
                      Aw's sure we polished ivry byen,
                      An' myed the pot a spinner;
                      For roond it went,--still not content,
                      The drinking moshin's carried,
                      Wi' dance an' sang, te music strang,
                      The day that we got married.

                      When neet set in, we went te see
                      The grand illuminashuns,
                      When bonny seets lit up wi' glee
                      Wor eyes wi' queer sensashuns'
                      For a' the streets wes fair aleet,
                      Tho i' the crood nigh worried,
                      The gas se breet myed blithe the neet
                      The Prince an' me got married.

                      They hyem agyen we bent wor way,
                      Wet throo wi' rain an' scrushin,
                      Te pass the crood wes owt but play,
                      Aw's still sair yit wi' pushin;
                      At hyem at last, --the time we past,
                      Wi' jokes byeth glen an' aprried,
                      Ne royal prince, afore or since,
                      Had fun like us, when married.

                      Aw wish the Prince had just been there,
                      Te see the aud wives dancin;
                      An' lang fat Mat sat i' the chair,
                      I' fun te tyek his chance in,
                      For lips we smackt an' jaws wes crackt,
                      The lads the lasses flurried,
                      The Rifle Ball we myed sing small,
                      The neet that we got married.

                      Six munths o' time had scarcely gyen,
                      The doctor myed us wince, man,
                      When he said-Myour Mally's got a bairn,
                      Says he ye've lickt the Prince man!
                      The bairn's bit claes were ready tee,
                      Aw blist the day we married;-
                      Withoot a wife-fareweel te life,
                      Ye might as weel be barried.

                      -Joe Wilson

Post - Top - Home - Printer Friendly - Translate

Subject: Lyr Add: Aw Wish Ye A Happy New Eer-Joe Wilson
From: *#1 PEASANT*
Date: 22 Apr 06 - 03:39 PM

"Aw Wish Ye A Happy New Eer."

                      Teun-"Uncle Sam,"

                      The room's byeth clean an' tidy,--
                      Se cosey, an' se warm,
                      The tyebles fill'd wi' drink an' loaf,
                      The new eer's morning charm;
                      The aud man tyeks a quiet draw,
                      Beside his canny mate,
                      The dowter lucks tewards the door,
                      An' thinks her swweetheart's late,--


                      Te sing a happy new eer!
                      Aw wish ye a happy new eer!
                      May yor life be as glad as the heart o' this lad,
                      Aw wish ye a happy new eer.

                      Oh, fethur, muther, --cries the lass,
                      Just hear the tramp o' feet,
                      The forst-fut mun be cummin noo,
                      Aw hear them i' the street:
                      Ye promised te let Jack in forst,
                      That's him,-aw knaw his knock,
                      Aw'open the door, --aw's sure its reet,
                      It's efter twelve o'clock.

                      The door's trhwn wide, wi' quickin'd stride,
                      The forst-fut rushes in,
                      Attended wi' sic merry mates,
                      The neet's wark te begin,
                      What shakin hands, what happy words-
                      "Drink up,-thro's nowt te fear,
                      Cum send the bottle roond agyen,
                      Let's welcum the new eer."

                      The aud man grasps each young un's hand,
                      "Yor welcum here me lad,"
                      The aud wife hands refresmint roond,
                      "Cum hinnies, let's be glad!"
                      The dowtor shares the forst-fut's seat,
                      It's Jack her lad aw'll swear,
                      The neybors cum wi' bottles full,
                      Te welcum the new eer.

                      Give us your hand-maw canny frinds,
                      An' ye that arnot greet,
                      Forget the past,-send spite away,
                      The world's a' kind the neet;
                      May a' wor lives keep glad as noo,
                      An' nivor knaw warse cheer,
                      oh, aw wish that ivry mornin
                      Wes the forst of ivry eer!

                      -Joe Wilson

Post - Top - Home - Printer Friendly - Translate

Subject: Lyr Add: Jimmy Jonsin the Barber
From: *#1 PEASANT*
Date: 22 Apr 06 - 04:28 PM

Jimmy Jonsin The Barber

                      Teun- "An Aud Fashin'd Chant."

                      At the end o' Stowell Street, te bliss a chep's seet, thor's a powl byeth bonny an' lang
                      Stickin ootside iv its glory an' pride, te invite them that's passin alang
                      Te hev a clean shave or a fashunable crop biv a gudluckin barber inside,
                      That's famed Jimmy Jonsin, the king of a' shavers an' hair-cutters a' roond Tyneside:--

                      Teun--"Rob Roy Magregor."

                      For gien ye shave an' a' the news
                      Thor's nyen like Jimmy Jonsin, O,
                      He'll tawk on onythng ye choose-
                      He's a queerin, Jimmy Jonsin, O.

                      Aw luckt in one day as aw wes passin that way--" Cum in, thor's just two afore ye!"
                      Says Jimmy te me, an' his blithe luckin fyece wes a pictor se gladnin te see;
                      "It's been a fine day the day,--Mistoor, hoo de ye dee?--aw hope a' yor foaks is quite weel:--
                      They are, that's reet!-it's yor turn, tyek a seat,--man,it's a cumfort when gud health ye feel!

                      "Waht's yor tip for the race that next week 'ill tyek place?--aw heer thor's a dark un forst-rate,
                      But dark uns and leet uns is not always reet uns,-aw backt Caller Ou for the Plate.--
                      Dis the razor shave easy?--bliss me, what a murder that was i' the papers last week--
                      But htor's mair murders deun then we knw owt aboot, but we'd knaw if the corpses could speak!

                      "Aw wes doon at the Consart last neet, an' the singin wes a' that a fellow cud want;-
                      What a shem that the Madgistrates lets noisy Davis annoy a' the foaks wiv his rant.
                      Aw wes teetotal last week, it's the truth that aw speak--but aw seun had greet noshuns te drop,
                      For aw nivor cud see ony gud in wad de, if a man drinkin nowt else but pop!

                      "That fut-race at Fenhim last week wes a queer un, aw've heerd that it wassent all square!
                      What a treat it wad be for a fellow te see a race that he knew wes quite fair!
                      Aw went to hear Rutherford's sermon last Sunday,-dash me, he can tawk aboot owt;
                      But aw wes fightin last neet wiv a chep i' the street,--man, a glass myeks a chep care for nowt!

                      "Aw think when aw's deun, ae'll gan doon te the wettor, aw's sure te see sumbody pull.--
                      De ye think that that chep that jumpt frae the High Level's a real clivor man, or a feul?
                      Them masheens for hair brushin's a caswshun ye'll say--masheenory myeks lots o' mazors--
                      But they'll find thorsels puzzilid to myek a masheen te shave onybody like razors!"

                      -Joe Wilson

Post - Top - Home - Printer Friendly - Translate

Subject: Lyr Add: The Neet the Bairn Wes Born-Wilson
From: *#1 PEASANT*
Date: 22 Apr 06 - 04:55 PM

The Neet the Bairn Wes Born

                      Teun-"Stud it like a Lamb," or "Lukey's Dream."

                      One winter's neet te bed aw went
                      Like onny uthor man;
                      Aw cuddent sleep, tho maw intent
                      Wes just the varry plan;
                      For restless aw, wi' kick an' thraw,
                      Wish'd lang an' sair for morn;
                      Wi' wink an' blink, aw cuddent think
                      The neet the bairn wes born!

                      The neet seems lang when sleep forsakes
                      The sair an' weary eye,
                      An' myeks ye wish the hoose awake,
                      An' brickfast time wes nigh.
                      Hoo lang aw lay aw cannet say,
                      When sumthin myed us turn;
                      Wi' thund'rin clang the door went bang,
                      The neet the bairn wes born!

                      Thins aw-it's not the time for wark,
                      Aw wundor whe's gyen oot;
                      Aw lifts me heed-the room wes dark-
                      Oppress'd wi' fear an' doot.
                      Aw lissens weel as if the Deil
                      Wes gawn te gies me turn,
                      At last a stir aw heers next door
                      The neet the bairn wes born!

                      Footsteps aw heers upon the stairs,
                      An ' whispors te that's clear,
                      Tho'ts reet te mind yor awn affairs
                      Aw cuddent help but hear.
                      Aw heers a cry aw wipes me eye,
                      Me feelins myed us gurn,
                      Across the stocks aw fell, begox,
                      The neet the bairn wes born!

                      Half-stunned aw scrammels frae the floor,
                      "Cum oot!" cries Mistress Gray,
                      As quick as thowt aw opes the door,
                      An' next door myed me way,
                      Where sec a seet aw saw that neet,
                      Grim wundor myed us gurn;
                      Wi' greet surprise aw stritched me eyes,
                      The neet the bairn wes born!

                      Upon a bed yeth doose an' clean,
                      Young bonny Bessie lay,
                      Wi'cheek as pale as onny queen,
                      Close by stud Mistress Gray.
                      Wiv a little bairn upon her airm
                      Sum pictor 'twad adorn,
                      Its cheek se pknk myed bright eyes blink,
                      The neet the bairn wes born!

                      Its fetheur stud beside the bed,
                      An' blithe an' glad wes he,
                      Wi' eyes for wife an' bairn he stud,
                      A bonny seet te see,
                      The muther smiled se sweet an'mild--
                      the midwife's jolly yarn;
                      Wi' gin an' tea myed lots o' spree,
                      The neet the bairn wes born!

                      The little bairn wes handed roond,
                      That a' might get a view,
                      Its silky cheek wi' luv wes croon'd
                      Wi' kisses not a few'
                      Its health, wi'; glee, an' muther's, te,
                      Wes drunk frae neet te morn,
                      Byeth lad an' lass cud tyek thor glass
                      The neet the bairn wes born!

                      N.B.-Aw think aw'll not tell ye owt mair or ye might varry easy imadjin aw gat on the fuddle, but aw
                      diddent tho mind ye, tho aw can safely say wor Geordy diddnet gan te wark for a week eftor.

                      -Joe Wilson

Post - Top - Home - Printer Friendly - Translate

Subject: Lyr Add: Intoxication!- joe Wilson
From: *#1 PEASANT*
Date: 22 Apr 06 - 05:25 PM


                      Teun-"Early in the Morning."

                      Maw canny bairns, draw near te me,
                      An' say that ye'll teetotal be;
                      Be maw experience ye'll see
                      Drink leads to nowt but misery.

                      Shun vile intoxication!
                      Keep frev intoxication!
                      It's vile intoxication
                      Myeks the world se full o' care!

                      Just see the myest unhappy hyem,
                      That i' this world can find a nyem:
                      A hoose fill'd full o' grief an' shem;
                      A man that brings ne joy te them,

                      Throo vile intoxication, etc.

                      Just see the bairns flee frae thor da,
                      A man that shud better knaw,
                      Then be a dreed an' curse tiv a'
                      That frev him ne affection knaw,

                      Throo vile intoxication, etc.

                      Mad drunk, he enters his awn hoose,
                      An' myeks't a scene o' vile abuse;
                      Like a tyrant he'll thor wants refuse,
                      An heartless wife an' bairnies use,

                      Throo vile intoxication, etc.

                      Hoo happy there they a' might be,
                      The bairns wad cling aorund his knee;
                      If he wad just teetotal be,
                      What different scenes they a' wad see,

                      Throo vile intoxication, etc.

                      Hoo mony fall i' manhood's prime,
                      Cut off, ay, eers before thor time;
                      We'd nivvor hear se much o' crime
                      I' this or any uther clime,

                      But throo intoxication'
                      So shun intoxication,
                      For vile Intoxication
                      Myeks the world se full o' care.

                      -Joe Wilson

Post - Top - Home - Printer Friendly - Translate

Subject: Lyr Add: My Sweetheart
From: *#1 PEASANT*
Date: 22 Apr 06 - 05:52 PM

Me Sweetheart

                      Teun-"Gentle Jenny Gray."

                      Me sweetheart, she's a canny lass,
                      As canny as can be;
                      Her kind, gud heart's enchanted me--
                      Withoot her aw wad dee.
                      She likes te sing gud moral sangs,
                      Te charm the ear an' mind;
                      Her feators an' her bonny voice
                      Are both alike refined.

                      Sweetly singin, glad hopes bringin
                      Te the sad an' weary heart;
                      Maw canny sweetheart, bonny lass,
                      May we nivvor, nivvor part!

                      Aw've seen her on a little stage,
                      At meetins where aw've been,
                      She'd raise her voice for Temparance
                      In melodies, between
                      The speeches gentlemen wad myek;
                      But her voice had the charm:
                      Thor seemed a lectur iv her sangs
                      Te keep us a' frae harm.

                      -Joe Wilson

Post - Top - Home - Printer Friendly - Translate

Subject: Lyr Add: Dinnet Spoil the Bairn-Joe Wilson
From: *#1 PEASANT*
Date: 22 Apr 06 - 05:53 PM

Dinnet Spoil the Bairn!

                      Teun- "Flora Bell."

                      Oh, dinnet gie that bairn a drop,
                      Oh, dinnet let it tyest;
                      Ye munnet lairn that bairn te drink,
                      Ye owt te knaw what's best.
                      Poort thing! she's only five eers aud,
                      Then dinnet let her touch
                      The varry stuff thats been yor ruin,
                      Tho ye might like't se much!

                      Keep frae the lass that deedly glass,
                      Just for a moment think;
                      An' dinnet spoil that bonny bairn,
                      That canny bairn, wi' drink.

                      Ne muther's feelins ye mun hev
                      For that bit cumley lass,
                      If ye wad force them bonny lips
                      Te touch that filthy glass.
                      Keep't frev her seet, if ye will hed;
                      But time shud myed ye lairn
                      That drink's been a greet curse te ye.
                      Then dinnet spoil the bairn.

                      Waht diff' rent beins in this world
                      A lot o' foaks wad be,
                      If they cud keep frae practices
                      In infancey they see.
                      Then let the drink, for Jenny's sake,
                      Be kept oot ov her seet;
                      She'll nivvor dream ov owt that's rang
                      If she sees a' that's reet.

                      Hoo mony muthers spoil thor bairns,
                      An' sadly rue the day
                      Whan they see, whe it's ower late,
                      Thor offspring gyen astray.
                      Then keep the bonny lass at hyem,
                      Ye'll find it better far;
                      Thor's nowt 'ill ruin a bairn as seun
                      As tyekin't tiv a bar.

                      -Joe Wilson

Post - Top - Home - Printer Friendly - Translate

Subject: Lyr Add: The Aud-Fashin'd Bairn! - Joe Wilson
From: *#1 PEASANT*
Date: 22 Apr 06 - 06:16 PM

The Aud-Fashin'd Bairn!

                      Teun-"Gud-bye, Sally dear."

                      Wor Bessie's got a littil bairn,
                      But, bliss us, what a stir,
                      It's myed amang the family,
                      An' the varry foaks next dor
                      Declair they've nivor seen it's like,
                      An' aw've heard Dolly Cairns
                      Sweer it wes mair aud-fashin'd
                      Then the most o' littl bairns.


                      But, oh my , biiss us a', ye shud see the stir
                      Betwixt the foaks i' wor hoose, an' them that leeves next dor,
                      For accordin te thor noshuns, and the words o' Dolly Cairns,
                      It really is the most aud-fashin'd ov aud-fashin'd bairns.

                      It hes ne hair upon its heed,
                      But aw suppose it will;
                      It likes its meat like uther bairns,
                      An' screams te hev it's fill;
                      It cannet walk, it cannet tak,
                      "Mamma," it just can say
                      But aw warn'd amang aud-fashhin'd bairns
                      They'll a' heh the syem way.

                      It hes its nose abov its mooth,
                      Its mooth abov its chin,
                      Aw suppose that myek'st aud -fashin'd,
                      An' its muther's fond o' gin;
                      An' when she gis the bairn a drop
                      Upon her fingor-end,
                      It suck'st as nattril as can be,
                      An' myeks a clivor fend.

                      It cries as hard as ony bairn,
                      An' likes to be weel nurs'd;
                      But bliss us, what a pet it is
                      An' hes been frae the forst;
                      Aw've seen a lot o' bonny bairns,
                      An' aw wad like te see
                      A one that's not aud-fashin'd-
                      Oh, but that 'ill nivor be!

                      -Joe Wilson

Post - Top - Home - Printer Friendly - Translate

Subject: Lyr Add: Kiss Litle Joe for Me
From: *#1 PEASANT*
Date: 22 Apr 06 - 07:14 PM

Kiss Little Joe for Me!

                      Teun- "Irish Mally, O,"

                      Lass, aw'm sorry aw's not wi' ye,
                      Fairly forced te be away,
                      Frae me little wife an' fam'ly,--
                      Hoo aw spend the varry day
                      Myeks us wundor, ay, an' wundor,
                      An' keep narvis as can be,
                      For aw'd like ye, an' aw's sartin
                      Ye'll kiss little Joe for me!

                      When yor sittin be the fire,
                      Wi' the bairn upon yor knee,
                      Tell him that his fethur's cummin,
                      An' kiss little Joe for me!

                      Tell him that his fethur's cummin,
                      Tell him that he's cummin seun,
                      Then his bonny eyes 'ill glissen,
                      An' he'll goo! goo! full o' fun;
                      An' he'll think the ship ye've promised
                      Cummin in, he's sure te see,
                      An' he'll twist his lips se clivor,
                      If ye kiss him just for me!

                      For two fyeces myek impreshuns
                      On a litle bairney's mind,
                      An' it thinks ov a' relayshuns
                      That thor's nyen alive se kind
                      As its fethur an' its muther,
                      An' its eyes thor full o' glee,
                      When it sees them byeth asside him,--
                      So kiss little Joe for me!

                      -Joe Wilson

Post - Top - Home - Printer Friendly - Translate

Subject: Lyr Add: The Bairn's Nyem
From: GUEST,
Date: 23 Apr 06 - 08:38 AM

The Bairn's Nyem.

                      Teun-"Champion o' the Cassel Garth Staris."

                      "What are we gawn te call the bairn?"
                      Says Jack tiv his wife one day,
                      "Wor sornyem Smith's such a common one,
                      Aw divvent knaw what te say.
                      Suppose we call him Hamlet, that's
                      The Nyem o' the chep i' the play!"
                      But his wife she fancied Romeo,
                      If she cud hev her awn way.

                      Says Jack, "Hoo wad ye like Thomas,
                      Efter Sayers, the king o' the ring?"
                      Says she, " Thor's ower many Toms,
                      Wor cat's call'd the varry syem thing?"
                      Says he then, "De ye like Alfred?
                      The nyem ov a Duke's ne mistake!"
                      Says she,"Ne bairn o' min shall be
                      Call'd efter a deuk or a drake!"

                      Says Jack, "Then we'll call him Jonah,
                      A scriptor nyem 'ill not fail!"
                      Says she, "It's ower doleful like,
                      An' it soonds just like a wail!"
                      "Let's call him Charley, Harry, or Fred,"
                      Says he, "one o' them 'ill de!"
                      Says she, "It's Billy, or Bob, or Ned,
                      Or Peter that pleases me!"

                      Granfether, granmuther, an' unkil,
                      An'aunt wees cthen call'd in;
                      The whole had different fancies,
                      But the aud man had te win,--
                      Says he,"Just call him eftor me,
                      It's a nyem that's full o' pith,
                      Besides it's a gud ancient one,
                      So chrissin the bairn Jack Smith!"

                      -Joe Wilson

Post - Top - Home - Printer Friendly - Translate

Subject: Lyr Add: Wor Canny Second-Born!- Joe Wilson
From: *#1 PEASANT*
Date: 23 Apr 06 - 08:57 AM

Wor Canny Second-Born!

                      Air-"Gentle Jenny Gray."

                      Just two eers since a lad wes born,
                      Te myek glad wor fireside,
                      It fill'd its muther an' me-sel
                      Wi' nowt but honest pride;
                      We thowt ov a' bairns i' the world,
                      Him bonniest an' the best,
                      An' thowt we cud luv nyen as much,
                      But noo we've had the test,--

                      Wor second-born's as big a pet,
                      We mun give him a turn,
                      He's cum te share the forst one's luv,
                      Wor canny second-born.

                      His bonny cheek like velvet soft,
                      Wes press'd wi' gentle care,
                      The little fellow seem'd te knaw
                      'Twes reet te hev his share;
                      Carresses an' the sweetest words,
                      Myest ivrything we'ved tried,
                      We've kiss'd him when we' ve seen him smile,
                      An' kiss'd him when he's cried.

                      The forst one's just as prood as us,
                      Te see his bonny mate,
                      An' if thor spared te grow up lads,
                      They'll fettle real forst-rate;
                      But if like hempy lads they fight,
                      We'll heh to keep them doon,
                      An' try te myek them byeth as gud
                      As ony in the toon.

                      -Joe Wilson

Post - Top - Home - Printer Friendly - Translate

Subject: Lyr Add: Benny 'Ill Not Gan Te Scheull!-Joe Wilso
From: *#1 PEASANT*
Date: 23 Apr 06 - 09:06 AM

Benny 'Ill not Gan Te Scheul!

                      Teun--"The Croppy Boy."

                      "Me eyes thor sair, an' me heart is full,
                      Cas me bony bairn he'll not gawn te scheul;
                      Tho he's ten eers aud, he's as big a dunce
                      As ivor ye'll see wi' yor two eyes at once."

                      Korus. Teun- Banks o' Benlomond."

                      "Benny's gan the rang road, he's gan the road te ruin,
                      An' the feelins ov his muther he's distressin,,
                      For his heed's byeth thick an' dull, an' he plays the wag frae scheul,
                      An' he winnet stop at hyem an' lairn his lesson!"

                      "It's an awful thing-mind, it is indeed,
                      Te think that he cannot yit even reed
                      His nyem, if it's put before his eyes:
                      But he's like his fethur-an' he was nivor wise!

                      "But he's sure te rue'd when it's over late,
                      An' blame his muther for his ignorant state;
                      He'll want te reed when he cannet lairn,--
                      For a man can nivvor say A, B, C's like a bairn!

                      "His fethur just laffs at the silly lad,
                      But what pleases him myeks the muther bad;
                      For hoo can Ben read if he cannet spell,--
                      Then God help the lad, for he cannet help his-sel!"

                      --Joe Wilson

Post - Top - Home - Printer Friendly - Translate

Subject: Lyr Add: Maw Bonny Strite-hair'd Lad!-Joe Wilson
From: *#1 PEASANT*
Date: 23 Apr 06 - 09:25 AM

Maw Bonny Strite-Hair'd Lad!
                      Teun- "Peggy Bawn."

                      On Newcassel Jail's dark gloomy walls
                      Sally Turnbull sadly gazed,
                      Sigh efter sigh broke throo her lips,
                      An then her voice she raised:-
                      "Maw bonny son!-oh, my bonny bairn
                      Tho he's got six munse i' quad,
                      He's still me awn, he''s me pet, me Bill,
                      He's me bonny strite-hair'd lad!

                      "Twes just last Seturday efterneun
                      'Poor Bill went oot for a wark,
                      Te the Market, for he likes that place,
                      But he nivvor mair com back,
                      For a paltry rabbit teuk his eye,
                      An' his appetite's not bad,
                      So he teuk't, tho mind ye, just on tick,
                      Tid me bonny strite-hair'd lad!

                      "But the warst on't he had nivvor axt
                      The man's permisshun te did,
                      An' a big fat Bobby i' private claes,
                      Thowt wor Bill had ne reet wid;
                      So he teuk him te the stayshun hoose,
                      An' it's nearly drove us mad,
                      A better-like lad nivvor suffer'd i' quad
                      Then me bonny strite-haired lad!

                      "Aw's sure he wad paid for'd there an' then,
                      If he'd had the money, poor lad,
                      He always wes fond ov a rabbit-pie,
                      An' black puddins in't myed him glad;
                      In fact, he liked rabbits at ony time,
                      An' at Koorsins, - forst i' the squad,
                      A fine bred bul-an-tarrier bitch
                      Wes the pride o' me strite-hair'd lad!

                      "Not Guilty! he said i' the kort as plain
                      As ivvor a body cud said,
                      An' still they waddent believe his words,--
                      But Billy they cannot degrade
                      P the eyes of his muther, fond an' true,
                      Tho thor's nyen i' the world se bad,
                      He'll still find a place i'; the por aud heart,
                      That greets for her strite-hair'd lad1"

                      -Joe Wilson

Post - Top - Home - Printer Friendly - Translate

Subject: Lyr Add: Think O' The Little AOnes At Hyem!- Joe
From: *#1 PEASANT*
Date: 23 Apr 06 - 09:43 AM

Think O' The Little Ones At Hyem!

                      Teun- "Thump, thump."

                      Oh! dinnet drink ne mair;
                      Hev a care, lad-hev a care
                      For the little ones left be thor-sels at hyem:
                      They heh ne muther noo,
                      An' she tell'd ye te be true,
                      On her death-bed, te be kind an' true te them.

                      Then think o' the little ones at hyem, lad--
                      Thnk o'yor canny bairns at hyem:
                      They heh ne muther noo,
                      An' they've lost the care they knew,
                      So be careful, an' be always kind te them.

                      She fretted her last days,
                      When she thowt aboot yor ways,
                      An' her heart wes fairly broken when she dee'd.
                      She knew hoo thowtless ye
                      Had been, an' wes like te be,
                      An' she wundor'd whe'd attend them i' thor need.

                      Her last words wes for ye,
                      When she whisper'd, "Try an' be
                      A gud fgethur te the bairns aw'm forced to leeve!"
                      Can yue luck i' thor eyes,
                      An' hear therir heart-rendin' cries?
                      God help them! for thor muther they mun grieve.

                      Heh sum luv for yor awn;
                      Be a man, ay, be a man;
                      Let them see thor's one still left te care for them.
                      So let yor drinkin' end,
                      For on ye they a' depend;
                      Hev a care, man, for the little ones at hyem.

                      -Joe Wilson

Post - Top - Home - Printer Friendly - Translate

Subject: Lyr Add: Little Johnny Robinson-Joe Wilson
From: *#1 PEASANT*
Date: 23 Apr 06 - 10:53 AM

Little Johnny Robinson.

                      Teun-"Castles in the Air"

                      Little Johnny, blithe and bonny,
                      Sits se canny in his chair,
                      Hoo can he help but be a pet
                      Wi' ivrybody there?
                      Ay, an' ivrybody likes him,
                      When they see his sparklin eyes,
                      Glist'nin wi' thor bright expression,
                      Innocence an' sweet surprise.

                      Little Johnny, blithe an' bonny,
                      Sits content uppon yor knee,
                      Full o' fun an' full o' mishchief,
                      Happy as a bairn can be:-
                      Such a welcum for his fethur,
                      Bright wi' joy his eyes 'ill gleam,
                      Such a welcum for his muther,
                      Equal tiv a muther's dream.

                      May young Johny's days be mony,
                      May they be as glad as noo,
                      May the ties of sweet affection
                      Always be se kind an' true;
                      Gladly wi' thor little treasure,
                      May they spend thor happy days;
                      May his parents live te bless him,
                      May he always gain thor praise.

                      -Joe Wilson

*this goes well with an anglican hymn for lent but cant remember the name of the tune....

Post - Top - Home - Printer Friendly - Translate

Subject: Lyr Add: Cum Hyem I' Gud Time!- Joe Wilson
From: GUEST,Conrad Bladey
Date: 23 Apr 06 - 12:02 PM

Cum Hyem I' Gud Time!

                      Teun-"The Braw Young Lad."

                      Oh, Bill, if ye'll only cum hyem i' gud time,
                      Yor supper aw'll myek, an' the beer shall be prime,
                      So thinkk o' me words an' cum hyem i' gud time,
                      An' dinnet for once stop lang!
                      Maw canny gud man just think o' yor wife
                      Ye leeve the neet, the weary neet,
                      Te sit i' the hoose biv her-sel, till yor feet
                      Cums staggoring hyem a' rang.

                      Thor's mony a neet aw've sat till me eye
                      Wes sair an' dry, wi' mony a sigh,
                      An' thowt ivry step wes yors that come nigh,
                      They pass'd, then aw knew aw wes rang;
                      Can ye not stop at hyem one neet i' the week?
                      Ye can heh yor gill beside us, Bill,
                      An' aw'll sit be yor side an' sew wi' gud will,
                      An' Jinny shall sing ye a sang.

                      Is aw not like the syem that aw used te be?
                      That ye leeve the hoose, se clean an' doose,
                      Ye once used to say wes yor pallis se croose,
                      Aw's sartin yor gan a' rang;
                      The hoose is as clean as it ivor can be,
                      The bit wark o' me te comfort ye,
                      An' aw'll de ivrything that a wummin can de
                      Te save yor breest the least pang!

                      Just luck at the little bit bairn i' me lap,
                      That smiles se sweet as tho twad entreat
                      That ye'd stop at hyem be me side for the neet,
                      If ye dinnet, aw's sure yor rang;
                      Oh, Bill, if ye'll only cum hyem i' gud time,
                      Yor supper aw'll myek an' the beer shall be prime,
                      So think o' me words an' cum hyem i' gud time,
                      An' dinnet for once stop lang!

                      -Joe Wilson

Post - Top - Home - Printer Friendly - Translate

Subject: Lyr Add: Wor Jinny's Fell Oot Wiv her Lad!-Joe Wi
From: *#1 PEASANT*
Date: 23 Apr 06 - 12:43 PM

Wor Jinny's Fell Oot Wiv Her Lad!

                      Teun-"Luck at the Clock!"

                      Wor Jinny's sighin, an' always crying,
                      Sighin an' moanin tghe whole day lang,
                      Sighin an' moanin, cryin an' groanin,
                      That's myed us sure thor wes sumthin rang:
                      She's not se tidy, her hair's not curly,
                      The way she always wor'd before,
                      She talks at random, an' lucks se silly,
                      An' what de ye think's the cawse o' the stir?

                      Oh my, wor Jinny's fell oot wiv her lad,
                      Oh dear, aw nivor saw her se sad,
                      Oh my, ye wad actwilly say she wes bad;
                      She'll fret an' she'll cry wi' monny a sigh,
                      Aboot nowt but her lad!

                      An' if yor funnin on owt that's stunnin,
                      She always thinks it's meant for her,
                      The varry thimmel she weers 'ill trimmil
                      If a sharpish knock cums te the door;
                      She's turn'd se snappish, se soor, an' crabby,
                      Aw sumtimes doot that she's the syem,
                      Aw's sure me muther, an' Bob, me bruther,
                      Can hardly beleeve they leeve at hyem!

                      Aw've seen the dinner, as aw'm a sinner,
                      Brunt just like sinders black an' dry,
                      Tho once we praised her for what she myed us,
                      She noo keeps spoilin byeth puddin an' pie:--
                      Aw saw Tom Goddin, her aud lad noddin,
                      As he pass'd by the tuther neet,
                      But her heed she toss'd it se independint,
                      Then cried heart-broken, when oot ov his seet!

Post - Top - Home - Printer Friendly - Translate

Subject: Lyr Add: Keep The Kettle Boilin!-Joe Wilson
From: *#1 PEASANT*
Date: 23 Apr 06 - 12:53 PM

Keep The Kettle Boilin!

                      Teun-"Sally cum up!"

                      Aw's happy as a man can be,
                      The mornin brings ne care te me,
                      Except a care aw'll tell te ye,---
                      That's keep the kettle boilin!
                      Is thor owt te glad the eye
                      Se much as when yor dry,
                      As te see the fire bleezin high,
                      An' the fam'ly kettle boilin?

                      Aw struggle throo the world te thrive,
                      An object keeps me mind alive,
                      Aw've always deun, an' will contrive
                      Te keep the kettle boillin!

                      When fortune smiles wiv all its grace,
                      An' roond the hearth-styen tyeks her place,
                      Aw bliss the chance thor's i' the case
                      Te keep the kettle boilin!
                      An' what's left- aw store away,
                      For fear a rainy day
                      Might cum te spoil us myekin hay,
                      Or stop the kettle boilin!

                      Aw watch the cumfort o' the hoose,
                      Aw like te see the fam'ly crouse,
                      So ivry effort weel aw use
                      Te keep the kettle boilin
                      Te sail smoothly wi' the tide
                      Aw try wiv honest pride,
                      Wi' thowts o' them that's be me side,
                      Te keep the kettle boilin.

                      An' if be chance aw hap te see
                      Sum canny foaks injoy a spree,
                      Aw de the best that aw can de
                      Te keep the kettle boilin!
                      An' aw's not affraid te sing,
                      For that's the varry thing
                      Te myek a man join i' the ring
                      Te keep the kettle boilin!

                      Aw like me pipe, aw like me gill,
                      Aw like te hev me stomach's fill;
                      But nivor mean te run a bill
                      Te stop the kettle boilin!
                      Man, aw's happy a' the day,
                      So think o' what aw say,
                      Think o' yor means,-an' leeve that way,
                      An' keep the kettle boilin!

                      -Joe Wilson

Post - Top - Home - Printer Friendly - Translate

Subject: Lyr Add: Recknin' For the Pay!-Joe Wilson
From: *#1 PEASANT*
Date: 23 Apr 06 - 01:07 PM

Recknin' For the Pay

                      Teun- "Joe an' Mary Ann."

                      "Oh, the morrow's the pay," says Jacob Young,
                      "An' aw've thorty bob te draw,
                      But hoo much o' that belangs te me-sel,
                      When aw's sure aw hardly knaw.


                      But aw's glad that it's the pay,
                      Aw's glad that it's the pay.
                      For whativor aw may de,
                      Whey aw's sure te hev a spree,
                      Aw always myek't that way.

                      Forst-thor's twelve shillins for me board an' lodge,
                      An' aw mun pay that this week;
                      They gov us a hint when aw paid them short,
                      Uther lodjins aw might seek!

                      Then the minadge man's sure te call this week,
                      But he's sure te gan away,
                      It's just three months since aw paid him a bob,
                      An' aw think that that's gud pay!

                      Then aw got ten glasses o' beer on tick
                      At the hoose that's doon the raw;
                      If the lanlord says that he wants ony mair,
                      Aw'll not pay him owt at a'!

                      Thor's five shillins aw borrowed frae Davie Smith,
                      Whey, aw think aw'll pay him three,
                      An' the two that's left 'ill de for the basirn
                      That they say belangs te me!

                      But surely the toon 'ill turn over het,
                      If aw shud gan on that way,
                      If aw act like a man an' pay what aw can,
                      Aw'll still hev a spree at the pay!"

                      -Joe Wilson

Post - Top - Home - Printer Friendly - Translate

Subject: Lyr Add: The Day His Wife Wes Barried- Joe Wilson
From: *#1 PEASANT*
Date: 27 Apr 06 - 12:36 PM

The Day His Wife Wes Barried

                      Teun-"Martha the Milkman's Dowtor"

                      Beside a newly hapt up grave.
                      The day his wife was barried,
                      Stood tipsy Dick,--the only one
                      That i' the churchyard tarried;
                      He luckt doon at the grass an' clay
                      That hid his wife for ivor,
                      Then wip'd his eye an' heav'd a sigh,
                      His feelins myed him shiver.--

                      Oh, sad is me life, for aw;ve lost me luver,
                      Me wife's byeth deed an' barried;
                      Oh, mercy me, what mun aw de?
                      Wor Janey's deed an' barried!

                      "Fareweel," says he, "maw canny lass
                      Yor happy sowl's departed,
                      Ye've left us i' this weary world,
                      Aw's sure aw's broken-hearted;
                      The voice that myed us lowp wi' joy,
                      When fightin wi' the neybors,
                      Noo lies at rest-ne mair te pest
                      Wiv it's mischeevus labours.

                      "Them eyes that teuk the heart frae me
                      Just two eers gyen the races,
                      Ne mair 'ill shine, or wink, or stare;
                      Aw think aw see yor graces
                      When cummin frae the moor at neet,
                      Aw mind the neet wes rainy,
                      But, faith, an cuddint see a leg
                      Like yor's, maw cumley Janey!

                      "Them lips that oftin myed us wish
                      Aw had the chance te kiss them,
                      Ne mair 'ill move te treat yor luv,
                      Aw's sartin that aw'll miss them;
                      The dimpled cheek, an' yallow broo,
                      That show'd ne signs o' thinkin,
                      Ne mair aw'll see the sharp nose tee
                      That smelt when aw'd been drinkin.

                      "But, lass, aw'll miss ye i' the bed
                      That nivor needed warmin;
                      Aw'll mis the cheek se close te mine,
                      The squeezin close an' charmin;
                      Ne mair aw'll find yor big fat airms
                      Cum roond me neck se handy,
                      That myed us throo the neet forget
                      Throo day-time ye wor randy!

                      "Fareweel, aw'll try te cheer me-sel,
                      Aw cannet stop ne langer,
                      Te find releef aw'll droon me greef,
                      I'beer, or sumthink stranger;
                      Aw's sure te find sum uther lass
                      Te tyek yor place te cuddle,--
                      Aw've still sum feunril money left,
                      Fareweel,-aw's on the fuddil!"

                      -Joe Wilson

Post - Top - Home - Printer Friendly - Translate

Subject: Lyr Add: Hannah's Black Eye-Joe Wilson
From: *#1 PEASANT*
Date: 27 Apr 06 - 12:51 PM

Hannah's Black Eye

                      Teun-"She's Black."

                      Hannah's got her eye blackt, but hoo it wes deun
                      Aw knaw little mair then the man i' the meun;
                      It might been for fairs or it might been for fun,
                      But it spoils her gud lucks ne matther hoo deun!

                      She said twes a bed-post she struck i' the dark,
                      Then said it wes deun throo a little bit lark
                      Wi' Peggy the mangil wife doon i' the lane;
                      But Peggy said diffrint, an' hinted "Mick Kane."

                      Ye'll a' understand that Mick Kane he's a black,
                      He nivor gets wark but he seun gets the sack;
                      He's lazy, he's thievish, an' ivrything bad,
                      An' still Hanna's teun the big loon for her lad!

                      Aw's sartin it's him that's disfigor'd her eye,
                      An' silly-like she te conceal him 'iil try;
                      The bonny bright eye that once dazzled the view's
                      As black as her life 'ill be a' the way throo.

                      Aw mean if she marries the good-for-nowt cull
                      She'll sup bitter draughts frev a cup ower full;
                      For if before marridge te strike her's his plan,
                      What will he de tiv her shud he be her man?

                      Aw've oftin teun notis hoo lasses 'ill hide
                      Ill treatmint frae them that shud make them thor pride;
                      But time works the changes!--the muther an' wife
                      Wen wed-leeve te rue a' the days o' thor life!

                      -Joe Wilson

Post - Top - Home - Printer Friendly - Translate

Subject: Lyr Add: Hoo Te Leeve At Lodjins!-Joe Wilson
From: *#1 PEASANT*
Date: 27 Apr 06 - 01:24 PM

Hoo Te Leevee At Lodjins!

                      Teun-"The Mangil."

                      "Yor gan te leeve the toon, me lad,
                      Aw's sure the thowt on't myeks us sad,
                      Wes Fanny Hedley's greetin tiv her son;
                      "But think o' me when yor away,
                      An' send a letter ivry day
                      Te let yor muther knaw hoo ye get on;
                      An' if ye can find the syem
                      Cumfort that ye've had at hyem,
                      It 'ill warm yor muther's heart
                      Te hear the gud ye've deun!"


                      "But oh, me lad, it 'ill myek you muther sad,
                      If she thinks ye've got bad lodjins;
                      So think o' what aw say, send a letter ivry day,
                      An' aw'll tell ye hoo te leeve when yor at lodjins!

                      "Aw think ye 'd better keep yor-sel
                      O' meat, but dinnet tyek much yell;
                      Ye knaw twes just throo that ye got the bag;
                      It's that that's myed ye leave the toon,
                      An' browt yor muther's sporits doon,
                      An' myed ye that ye hardly hev a rag.
                      But aw'll tell ye what te de,
                      If ye only follow me,
                      An' te keep yoursel wi' cumfort
                      Whey,--ye needint fag!

                      "When yor away, --just think o' me,
                      Ye knaw yor just as fond o' tea,
                      An' oonce or two 'ill sarve ye a' the week;
                      An' coffee, whey, a quarter pund
                      Ye'll get at ony shop weel grund,
                      If ye want mair ye only need te speak;
                      And thor's shuggor ye'll want te,
                      Whey aw think a pund might de,
                      Tho aw knaw when yor at hyem
                      Ye like yor tea se sweet!

                      'Then ye can buy a loaf o' breed,
                      An' mair than that if ye shud need,
                      A half-a-pund o' butter still might sarve;
                      For dinner, heve a joint that's hot,
                      An' what thor's left, whey then ye've got
                      Sum cad meat that the next day ye may carve;
                      A piece o' bacon, nice an' sweet,
                      Or a bloater iv a neet
                      'Ill tyest yor gob, but aw's sure
                      That's mair then ye desarve!

                      "An' if ye buy a bit o' floor,
                      The lanlady 'ill myek, aw's sure,
                      A dumplin that 'ill please ye if she's owt,
                      An' pot-stuff if ye want at a',
                      Te myek ye broth, just let them knaw,
                      An' tetties at the syem time may be bowt;
                      But it 'ill only be yor falt
                      If ye lay owt oot for salt
                      Or any little things that ye
                      Can get for nowt!"

                      -Joe Wilson

Post - Top - Home - Printer Friendly - Translate

Subject: Lyr Add: Fightin Jim!- Joe Wilson
From: *#1 PEASANT*
Date: 27 Apr 06 - 02:11 PM

Fightin Jim!

                      Teun-"Katey's Letter."

                      "What mun aw de? " says Mary Gee, "me man's that awful lazy,
                      Aw's oftin thinkin te me-sel he's sure te drive us crazy;
                      An nivor thowt the lad that once call'd me his "little daisy".
                      Wad blight the floo'er he praised se much, an' myek us sigh for him.

                      "Aw's sure aw's oftin thinkin that the lad's gawn oot his senses,
                      Since he left wark, for once he tried myest ivrything te mense us;
                      But noo he nivor gives a hint aboot the week's expensis,
                      Aw hev te keep the hoose me-sel, as weel as keepin him.

                      "He once wes a real decent lad, an' drest jus like a drapeer,
                      Until he red Bell's Life, or sum uther sportin paper;
                      Theen he bowt a pair o' boxin gluves, te show his fightin capers,
                      An' noo amang a gang o' blacks they call him Fightin Jim.

                      "Since then he's play'd at dominones, an' a' sic wicked matches,
                      An' nivor shows he's fyeece i' doors withoot it's full o' scratches;
                      An' aw heh te pay for ivrything like stickin plaistor patches,
                      Oh, aw'm weery o' the life that aw leed wi' Fightin Jim.

                      "The warst on't if he's ivor paid-ye knaw that he's a rash un,
                      He hammers me when he comes hyem, on me he vents his pashun;
                      But if he' tries that on agyen, aw'll give him such a cawshun,
                      Aw'll let himk see what aw can de, aw'll be a match for him.

                      "He's got his hair cut short, an' a' te show that he's a bright un,
                      An' if a frind cums te the hoose, he talks 'boot nowt but fightin;
                      Aw only wish he'd tell'd us that i' that he teuk delite in,
                      Afore he married me, the brute; aw'll leave the hoose an' him!"

                      -Joe Wilson

Post - Top - Home - Printer Friendly - Translate

Subject: Lyr Add: Hoo Te Myek Mischeef!-Joe Wilson
From: *#1 PEASANT*
Date: 27 Apr 06 - 02:36 PM

Hoo Te Myek Mischeef!

                      Teun- " The Donkey Cairt."

                      One Day Nan Broon an' Mary Green wes talkin i' the yard.
                      Thor words drew me attenshun, so aw lissen'd till aw heard
                      What neybors say te neybors when they think nebody near.
                      What little words myeks greet mischeef, aw' ll try te let ye hear--
                      For Nanny Broon an' Mary Green that day said quite eneuff
                      Te myek the yard a scene o' strife wi' foaks byeth wild an' ruff.

                      For oh, but a mischeevous tung
                      'Ill myek the breest wi' trouble rung,
                      Ye'll find oot when the sang aw've sung,
                      That's just exactly true.

                      Says Mary Green-"Last neet as aw wes waitin for me man,
                      Aw's sure twes efter half-past twelve, aw heard the toon clock gan,
                      Aw heard two voices i'; the yard,-aw thot aw knew them tee,
                      Aw luckt oot the stair-heed window an' whe else shud aw see,
                      But Fanny Edwards wiv a chep, aw's sure twes Davie Swan,
                      He had his airms aroond her waist, an' he's a married man!"

                      Says Nanny Broon- "Faith, Mistress Green, aw think yor nowt but reet,
                      For Mistress Jonsin, at the club, declared, the tuther neet,
                      That Fannuy Edwards wes ne better then a lass shud be,
                      An' Mistress Foster said the syem te Mistress Tate an' me,
                      Aw's sure aw really think me-sel the lass is little gud.
                      She's not fit even for a lad like lazy Charley Wood."

                      Nan Brooon an' Mary went away, but late that varry neet
                      Aw heard sic noises i' the yard that woke up a' the street,
                      For Nanny Broon had tell'd a frind what Mary Green had said,
                      An' Mary Green had deun the syem an' lots o' mischeef myed,
                      Fopr Mistress Edwards got te knaw her dowtor wes run doon,
                      So oot she cum te clear thor nyem afore myest a' the toon.

                      Yung Fanny tee com tiv her aid, an' went to Mary Green.
                      Says she--" Ye've said a vast aboot last neet what ye had seen.
                      Ye say ye saw us i' the yard wi' sum aud married man,
                      An' if ye want to knaw the truth that man wes just yor awn.
                      He met us cummin throo the street an' set us te the door,
                      Aw didn't want ne mischeef or aw'd tell'd ye that before."

                      Directly Fanny spoke these words, wi' yells the row begun,
                      An' Mistress Mary Green's gud-man rued sairly what he'd deun.
                      She'd heard it hinted he waes false, an' noo she fund it true,
                      'The mischeef ended wiv her-sel that she begun te brew;
                      For days an' weeks it lasted, the talk ov a' the toon,
                      An' Mary Green te myek things warse, fell oot wi' Nancy Broon.
                      -Joe Wilson

Post - Top - Home - Printer Friendly - Translate

Subject: Lyr Add: What Myed Ye Get the Bag?-Joe Wilson
From: *#1 PEASANT*
Date: 28 Apr 06 - 12:13 AM

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

Post - Top - Home - Printer Friendly - Translate

Subject: Lyr Add: Superstishus Sally-Joe Wilson
From: *#1 PEASANT*
Date: 28 Apr 06 - 12:16 AM

Superstishus Sally.

                      Teun- Maw Boy Tommy."

                      Whe is't that puts the foaks aboot?
                      Whey, Superstishus Sally;
                      An' fills the breest wi' pain an' doot,
                      Whey, Superstishus Sally;
                      She'll give a groan an' shake her heed,
                      An' talk aboot sumbody deed,
                      An' sweet thor deeth she lang forseed,
                      A queer aud wife is Sally.

                      If stawks or leaves float I' the cup,
                      At tea, ye'll hear aud Sally
                      Byeth sigh an' say thor's sumthin up,
                      "Thor strangers," whispers Sally;
                      An' if the candle-wick burns lang
                      Wi' snots, she starts te myek a sang,
                      An' growls, an' sweers thor's sumthink rang,
                      "It's a bad sign," says aud Sally.

                      An' if a dog howls I' the street
                      Wy'll hear the moans o' Sally;
                      She'll nivor sleep a wink that neet,
                      Or let ye sleep will Sally;
                      She sweers it's always signs o' deeth,
                      She'll ring her hands an' grind her teeth,
                      An' myek the neybors haud thor breeth,
                      A deevil's plague is Sally.

                      The witches that ye've red aboot,
                      Wad heh ne chance wi' Sally,
                      She myeks reed fyeces white as cloot
                      Dis Superstishus Sally;
                      Wi' chawkin strokes upon a tray,
                      She leads byeth young an' aud astray,
                      An' silly-like, ye'll hear them say,
                      "A clivor wife's aud Sally."

                      -Joe Wilson

Post - Top - Home - Printer Friendly - Translate

Subject: Lyr Add: Dan's Apprehension-Joe Wilson
From: *#1 PEASANT*
Date: 28 Apr 06 - 12:18 AM

Dan's Apprehension.

                      Teun-"The Geuse Fair."

                      Aw'll tell y' a lark aboot a chep,
                      A famous constart man,
                      That once cud bring the hooses doon,--
                      Just noo aw'll call him Dan.
                      It waddint de te tell his nyem,
                      It might amuse a few,
                      But still 'twad de ne gud te them
                      If his real nyem they knew:
                      He used te sing at consarts i'
                      The country roond aboot,
                      A real gud-hearted jolly sowl,
                      O' that thor is ne doot.

                      He got engaged te sing sum sangs,
                      An' keep up his renoon,
                      At a quiet little country place
                      Not ten miles frae the toon;
                      He packt his carpet-bag wi' things
                      Te suit myest ivry age,
                      False whiskers, paint, an' claes an' wigs,
                      He needed for the stage;
                      Then off he set- got landed there,
                      An' pleased the foaks se weel,
                      They waddint let him cum away
                      Till tipsy he shud feel.

                      He sat an' drunk till late at neet,
                      The last train lang had gyen,
                      So Dan myed up his mind te leave
                      An' walk the distance hyem;
                      He flung his bag across his back,
                      An' bid them a' gud neet,
                      Then hurried on as best he cud,
                      An' seun we soot o' seet,--
                      A mile between the hoose an' him
                      He seun had put between,
                      But heere's just where the fun begins,
                      A scene that's seldum seen.

                      Two pollis cumin by that way,
                      Luckt hard an' queer at Dan,
                      Byeth on the watch for sum greet thief,
                      They teuk him for the man;
                      A pair o' bracelets on his wrists,
                      Afore poor Dan cud wink,
                      Wes thrust,-an' then they teuk his bag,
                      He haddint time te think,
                      Before they march'd him tiv a hoose
                      He'd nivor seen before,
                      An' then they threw him iv a cell,
                      An' then they lockt the door.

                      Poor Dan at forst wes stupefied,
                      For drink wes iv his heed,
                      But when he fund oot where he was,
                      His yells wad wake the deed;
                      The polis byeth luckt iv his bag.
                      Wi' wide an' greedy eyes,
                      An' ivrything they fund, they thowt
                      Wes this greet thief's disguise,-
                      They waddint lissen te the words
                      He tried to myek them hear,
                      But thowt o' praise an' greet rewards
                      Next morning they wad share.

                      The morning com-the clerk wes there,
                      The polis tell'd thor case,
                      Then browt Dan oot--wi' oaths he swore
                      He'd myek them tyck his place;
                      For when he tell'd them what he wes,
                      They swore he tell'd a lee,
                      Until he drest an' sung a sang,
                      An' then they knowt it spree;
                      But Dan the spree he cuddin't see
                      Until he myed them pay
                      Expensis-an' they had te did
                      Afore he'd gan away.

                      -Joe Wilson

Post - Top - Home - Printer Friendly - Translate

Subject: Lyr Add: Janey Foster-Joe Wilson
From: *#1 PEASANT*
Date: 28 Apr 06 - 12:35 AM

aney Foster

                      Teun- "Apple Praties."

                      Aw think o' Janey Foster when aw's sittin be the fireside,
                      An' sigh for Janey Foster, cas aw's sittin there me-sel;
                      Aw wander throo the streets as if aw diddent knaw where aw wes gawn,
                      An' whisper te me-sel the thowts aw darnet uthers tell;
                      Tho sweet reflecshuns cheer us when aw's thinking o' maw canny lass,
                      The time's byeth lang an' dreary till aw meet me luv agyen,
                      For since aw left the toon she's in, aw wish that aw had browt her wis,
                      Or else aw wish that Janey just had let me heart alien.

                      The first time that aw menshun'd luv, she hung her heed as if I' pain,
                      An' still she seemed tho she wes pleased at what aw just had said,--
                      Says she-"Aw've heard ye hev a lass-anuther lass that's far away,"
                      An' when she said these words te me, poor thing, she luckt quite flaid;
                      But when aw tell'd her that aw'd not, she laid her heed upon me breest,--
                      Says aw-"Maw canny sweetheart, faith aw heh ne lass but ye;"
                      Her lips met mine, not once or twice, but twice or thrice, an' ower agyen,
                      An' me heart's wi' Janey Foster, tho she's far away frae me.

                      She handed me her photograph the neet before aw com away,
                      Says she-"Mind ye'll tyek care o' that, an' sumtimes think o' me;"
                      Says aw-"Aw hope ye'll de the syem"--aw'd gien her mine the day before,--
                      Says she- "Aw will,"--an' cried, an' aw believe that aw cried tee,
                      At least aw thowt me heart wad brick; but no, she teuk gud care o' that,
                      For Janey hes me heart as whole as ony heart can be;
                      Its sinful,-but aw wish the time away that keeps me luv frae me,
                      Me heart's wi' Janey Foster till the varry day aw dee.

                      -Joe Wilson

Post - Top - Home - Printer Friendly - Translate

Subject: Lyr Add: The Miseries O' Shiftin-Joe Wilson
From: *#1 PEASANT*
Date: 28 Apr 06 - 12:50 AM

The Miseries O' Shiftin

                      Teun- "Try a little Dancin."

                      Iv a' the troubles that thor is,
                      Thor's nyen like weary shiftin,
                      Besides the wark it spoils the things,
                      Ne matter what yor liftin;-
                      For Mistress Smith, that leev'd next door,
                      When shiftin te the second floor
                      Alang the street, caused sic a stir
                      The day she started shiftin!

                      Iv a' the troubles that thor is,
                      Thor's nyen like weary shiftin,
                      Besides the wark it spoils the things
                      Ne matter what yor liftin.

                      The next day efter that, she stud
                      Bewilder'd like an' weary,
                      Te put things I' thor place she meant,
                      Wi' spirits not se cheery;
                      She luckt aboot, but where te start
                      She diddent knaw, she quite lost heart
                      Te try an' myek the hoose luck smart,
                      Wes puzzling efter shiftin.

                      Her breest was ful o' heavy sighs,
                      The draw'rs wes full o' scratches,
                      Says she-"If aw shift ony mair
                      Aw'd like te see them catch us;"
                      The clock weights rol'd aboot the floor
                      She hardly knew which way te stir,
                      An' wish'd she'd only knawn before
                      The miseries o' shiftin.

                      Her cheeny cups,-she'd only two,
                      Wes fairly smash'd te shivers,
                      Alang the tyeble ink an' oil
                      Wes runnin like two rivers;
                      The feather bed, se clean last neet,
                      Wes thick o' dirt, for I' the street
                      They'd let it fall, an' lost a sheet
                      Throo nowt else but the shiftin.

                      The tyebel creakt upon its legs,
                      Thy whole consarn wes craisin,
                      She lifted bundles here an' there,
                      An' broke the wesh-hand baisin;
                      She pickt things up, then let them fall,
                      An' knockt her heed agyen the wall,
                      Her only bairn begun te squall,
                      Te still myek warse the shiftin.

                      Frae morn te neet she struggled on,
                      Byeth in an' oot o' payshuns,
                      An' wish'd her man wes hyem frae wark,
                      On this-this sad occashun;
                      Te work at neet he thowt a shem,
                      He thowt she'd better did alien,
                      So faith, he diddent hurry hyem,
                      He diddent fancy shiftin.

                      The chair-backs diddent seem te care
                      For legs that they belang'd te,
                      The luckin-glass wes nicely scraped,
                      The bed wes put up rang tee,
                      For scaircely had they had a snore,
                      When doon they fell upon the floor.
                      \An' Jinny cursed, an' Harry swore
                      The devil tyek the shiftin.

                      -Joe Wilson

Post - Top - Home - Printer Friendly - Translate

Subject: Lyr Add: Settle Doon- Joe Wilson
From: *#1 PEASANT*
Date: 28 Apr 06 - 01:03 AM

Settled Doon.

                      Teun-"Kill or Cure."

                      When sittin be the fireside, me pipe se calmly smoking,
                      Or playin wi' the bits o' bairns, or wi' the aud wife jokin,
                      Aw's as happy, if not happier, than if aw had a croon,
                      For, me lads, aw's what aw like te be- that's nicely settled doon.


                      Then wire in ! me lads, an' join us i' the tune,
                      For noo aw's what aw like te be-
                      That's nicely settled down!

                      Aw've plenty wark, thenk God for that,-for wark brings real injoyment,
                      An' men can nivor settle doon without they've got imployument;
                      An' at neets aw often tyek the wife te walk aboot the toon,
                      An' we feel se calm an' happy like becas wor settled doon.

                      Then Jack an' Tom byeth gan te scheul, se willin, --thats a plissure,
                      Thor byeth gud lads, aw's sure they are,-them here's wor little trissure,
                      That's little Bell, just six munse aud, she's noddiin te the tune
                      Her muther sings, as if she knew wor nicely settled doon.

                      The hoose it maynit be se grand as sum that aw cud menshun,
                      But what thor's int's wor awn, lads,-an' ye'll nivor hear dissenshun
                      Betwixt he wife an'me,-for neethor like te cawse a froon,
                      Wor happy an' wor byeth content becas wor settled doon.

                      -Joe Wilson

Post - Top - Home - Printer Friendly - Translate

Subject: Lyr Add: It's Time Te Gan Te Bed-Joe Wilson
From: *#1 PEASANT*
Date: 28 Apr 06 - 10:47 AM

It's Time Te Gan Te Bed.

Teun-"What's a' the Steer, Kimmer."

"It's time te gan te bed, Harry,
'It's time te gan te bed,
Last neet aw cuiddint gan te sleep,
The awful tung ye led,
For drink wes I' yor heed, Harry,
Ye waddint had yor jaw,
Ye wakint a' the foaks upstairs,
An' vext the foaks belaw.


It's time te gan te bed, Harry,
It's time to gan te bed,
So put yor claes off, canny lad,
An' cum away te bed.

It's time te gan te bed, Harry,
Wi' stopping oot se late,
Aw's sure ye'll be me deeeth, ye will,
Aw'll reckind frae this date;
Ye needint fill yor pipe, Harry,
Yor smoking a' the day,
Ye'll not be fit for wark the morn,
Oh, hinny, cum away.

Ye once cud cum te bed, Harry,
Like a sober, decent man,
But noo ye sit te vex yor wife
As lang as weel ye can;
Aw's cawd here by me-sel, Harry,-
Aw wish aw diddent care,
But, oh, ye'll get yor deeth o' cawd
Wi' sleepin I' that chair.

Noo put that paper doon, Harry,
Ye shannot reed the neet,
Ye've kept us sittin up se lang
Aw's sure it issent reet;
Yor putting off yor claes, Harry,
But faith yor varry slaw,
Ye'll loss a quarter-day, an' then,
Ye'll blame yor wife, ye knaw.

-Joe Wilson

Post - Top - Home - Printer Friendly - Translate

Subject: Lyr Add: Aw'll Sing Ye A Tyneside Sang-Joe Wilson
From: *#1 PEASANT*
Date: 28 Apr 06 - 11:07 AM

Aw'll Sing Ye A Tyneside Sang

Teun-"Rip Teerin Jimmie."

Aw'll sing ye a Tyneside sang.
An' aw's sure aw'll not be rang,
For aw think ye'll like te heerd as weel as me,--
I' the dialect aw'll start,
For when aw sing- Tyneside it hes te be.

An' oh, me lads, it myeks me heart se glad,
Te sing or hear a lokil sang;
An' aw always like te see iv a cumpony, or a spree,
Sum canny lad te sing a Tyneside sang.

It puts us I' the mind
O' the canny foaks se kind,
That roond wor bonny firesides we see;
An' it myeks us feel at hyem,
An' aw hope that yor the syem,
If ye arnet, whey aw's sure ye owt te be!

But the greetest treat, aw say,
Is whenivor aw'm away,
I' sum friendly cumpny i' sum uther toon,
When aw hear the glasses ring,
An' a real Tynesider sing,
An' the foaks's feet a' beatin te the tune.

It myeks us feel se glad,
That aw fancy aw'm a lad,
Wi' the forst bit lokil sang upon me tung,
An' the dialect's se fine,
All around the "Coaly Tyne,
It's a treat te hear the sangs se hyem-like sung

-Joe Wilson

Post - Top - Home - Printer Friendly - Translate

Subject: Lyr Add: What that Man Might Heh Been!-Joe Wilso
From: *#1 PEASANT*
Date: 28 Apr 06 - 11:08 AM

What that Man Might Heh Been!

Teun-"Cum hyem, Fethur."

One morning when walkin the streets wiv a frind,
He call'd me attenshun away,
Tiv a seedy-like man wiv a fyece full o' care,
That gloomily pass'd on his way;
Dissipashun had left its sad marks on his broo,
An' poverty myed them mair keen,
The frind at me side whispered-Joe, luck ye there!
Can ye tell what that man might heh been?

Thor once wes a time-when i' bizniss his-sel,
He held a fine place I' the toon,
An' bore a gud nyem as a nice sort o' man
That few, varry few wad run doon;
But the hyem that he had wassint peaceful aw've heard,
He'd trubbles that cuddint be seen,
So he flew te the drink-an' it myeks a chep sad,
When he thinks what that man might heh been.

He had wealth-as a scholar he gain'd greet renoon,
An' respect frae the foaks that he knew;
But noo, man, he's poor, for the money he had
Like chaff on a windy day flew;
He drinks day an' neet- but he's not biv his-sel,
For thor's cases like this daily seen,
An' hoo often ye'll hear iv a cumpny the words
Wiv a sigh, "What that man might hev been!"

-Joe Wilson

Post - Top - Home - Printer Friendly - Translate

Subject: Lyr Add: Geordey O! -Joe Wilson
From: *#1 PEASANT*
Date: 28 Apr 06 - 11:35 AM

Geordey, O!

Teun-"Daddy, O!"

Iv a' the jolly cheps aw've seen,
Thor's nyen like Geordey, happy Geordey,
"Me hyem's me cassil, wife me queen,
An' aw's thor king," says Geordey, O;
"At least byeth wife an' bairns agree
That aw's thor maistor, lord an' maistor,
But hoo aw is, --aw cannet see,
But still aw's king," says Geordey, O!

Geordey, O, Geordey, O,
Thor's nyen cums up te Geordey, O,
For crackin a joke an' singin a sang,
He licks them a' dis Geordey, O.

Ye needint talk te him o' war,
He dissent heed it, dissent need it,
"Across me nose aw've got a scar,
An' that's throo war," says Geordey, O;
But if the family ivor fights,
He always wi' them sticks weel te them,-
"Aw stick up for me famly reets,
An' that's just fair!" says Geordey, O.

Teetoteleers needint talk te him,
Aboot hard drinkin, quite free-thinkin,
"Aw'll fill me glass up te the brim,
If aw want as much," says Geordey, O;
"But if aw think aw' ve had me share,
Withoot yor pledges, dorty pledges,
Wi' mind myed up te heh ne mair,
Aw winnet touch," says Geordey, O.

If trubbil rings the family's hearts,
He's there is Geordey, canny Geordey,
"Cheer up, me bairns, it might been warse,
So comfort tyek," says Geordey O;
He's quite the heart an' sowl o' hyem,
Gud-temper'd Geordey, happy Geordey,
A' away fre'd faith, he's just the syem,
Such fun he'll myek, will Geordey, O.

-Joe Wilson

Post - Top - Home - Printer Friendly - Translate

Subject: Lyr Add: Reedin Aud Lettters!-Joe Wilson
From: *#1 PEASANT*
Date: 28 Apr 06 - 11:46 AM

Reedin Aud Letters!

Teun- "All Among the Barley."

Aw've just red these aud letters,
That's been se lang lockt by,
A' what they've browt inte me mind,
Te tell ye, whey, aw'll try;
They've myed us think mair then aw de
O' foaks an' times that's gyen,
An' browt such queer reflecshuns
On byeth lasses, lads, an' men
That rote te me, an' nivor dreamt
That pen an' in wad keep
For eers to show the thowts an' words
So dear, an' yet se cheap.

Tho sum may give us plissure,
An' sum may giv us pain,
Aw like to reed aud letters,
Tho but littil they contain.

The forst wes frev a playmate,
Where he talks o' days gyen by,
An' menshuns when he went te scheul,
The day he store me pie.
He says he's turn'd a big un noo,
An' lately bowt a keel.
He's married an' got fower bairns,
Aw think he's deein weel;
The second's fev anuther mate,
A bubbly heeded lad,
But faith he's turned a clivor man,
Scheul-maistor!-that's not bad.

The next it's frev anuther frind,
At least a frind aw thowt,
He's axin for a pund or two,
Aw wish aw'd lent him nowt.
But what's the use o' whishing noo,
He said that he wad pay,
But money, or the sight o' him,
Aw've not seen te this day;
The next it's frev a chap that might
Heh been forst-rate off noo,
But he went to be a brewer, an'
He drunk mair than he'd brew.

The next it's frev a lass aw had;
Shey says-"Aw's yor's till deeth."
An' te see the kisses thor's i' this
Wadd fairly stop yor breeth.
She may be mine, but that aw doot,
For hoo aw cannot see,
Last Sunday she wes married tiv
A chep-that issent me;
And letters then ye see contains
Vexashun an' delight,
But if ye'll tyek a frind's advice
Be careful hoo ye write!

-Joe Wilson

Post - Top - Home - Printer Friendly - Translate

Subject: Lyr Add: Aw Like Young Geordey Weel-Joe Wilson
From: *#1 PEASANT*
Date: 28 Apr 06 - 11:54 AM

Aw Like Young Geordey Weel

Tun-"The Sandstone Girl."

Young Geordey he's a keelman, an' a canny lad is he,
Aw've nivor seen a better luckin one upon the Kee,
He's fairly teun me fancy, an' aw cannet help but feel,
That aw've nivor seen a one yit aw can like half as weel.


Geordey! Geordey!- man, aw like young Geordey weel,
For aw've nivor seen a better yit that work'd upon the wettor!
An' he says that he intends te be the skipper of a keel!

Sum foaks may think his feators not as fine as they shud be,
An' striter-luckin noses issent varry hard te see,
But he seems his awn nose better then the best un ye cud find,
An' aw'll tyek me oath on that for a' they say lov's blind.

He smokes an' chows he's baccy just as weel as ony man,
An' can drink as mony glasses as a decent body can;
He can dance byeth neat an' clivor, for a pair o' clogs he wun,
An' a medal tee for singin comic sangs an' myekin fun.

He wun a pair o' blankets at a rafflin just last neet,
An' he's muther says she'll nivor see us beaten for a sheet;
He's gawn te row next Monday, ay, an' when the prize's wun,
He says he'll buy the furnitor an' sittra varry seun.

-Joe Wilson

Post - Top - Home - Printer Friendly - Translate

Subject: Lyr Add: Mary Lister!- Joe Wilson
From: *#1 PEASANT*
Date: 28 Apr 06 - 12:14 PM

Mary Lister!
Teun-"The Fisherman's Dowter."

If a nice little beer-hoose that's well situated,
Te catch a' the tipplers that wander that way.
Thor's a bloomin young widow, they call Mary Lister,
The charm of the kumpney, se blithe an' se gay;
She's just the landlady te captivate fellows
That think they can hev ivry lass that they see,
But Mary's thor maistor,--she myeks them a' jellous,
An' the next mimmint fills a' thor fyeces wi' glee


An' thor's nyen can resist her, for sweet Mary Lister,
The bloomin young widow a pictor te see.

She's stoot, but she's bonny, an' her eyes hoo they sparkle,
As she laffs at the jokes she heers pass'd at the bar,
As' her tung's an attrackshun, the time that she's fillin
The drink, or supplyin the swells wi' segars;
She's quite the sensayshun, for a' that' around her
Can hardly help drinkin as lang as she's there,
Till the time cums for closing, then hyemwards they stagger
Te dream o' the widow se cumley an' fair.

They a' think thor chances keeps myekin advances,
An' they think te thor-sels what a "canny sit doon,"
An' she keeps them a' up in't, for constantly smiling,
They get ne doon-heartnere wi' seein her froon;
But lads, she knaws better-for tyekin a husband
Wad spoil all her bissniss,-an' Mary tell'd me--
"The bit ring on her finger needs ne uther marrow
Then the keeper beside it-se bonny te see!"

-Joe Wilson

Post - Top - Home - Printer Friendly - Translate

Subject: Lyr Add: Geordy's Villossipeed! - Joe Wilson
From: *#1 PEASANT*
Date: 28 Apr 06 - 12:25 PM

Geordy's Villossipeed!

Teun-"Turn a little handle."

Wor Geordey dissent care for whativor man can de,
He thinks that he can de the syem, an' tries te let us see,
For he'll scrammil up an' tummil doon,
An' then gan rowlin roond the toon,
Frae side te side, the clumsy cloon,
On a pair o' wheels, the lazy loon,
He might as weel get on the moon,
An' tummil doon, an' crack his croon,
As try te be a greet Villlossipeeder!

Thor's a pair o' cruckt handles he wors wiv his feet,
An' anuther greet big un te steer him a' reet,
An' a saddle that mun heh been myed for a cat,
Aw wundor he sits on't-the lad's getting fat.

It weers a' his troosers an' he spoil'd a new pair,
The ones that he's got on's wor throo, aw declare;
Ye can see his shart throo them before an' behint,
An' te watch his maneuvers wad myek ye a' squint.

He call'st his philosophy an' lots o' queer nyems,
But the lad's gawn demented, or nearly the syem;
What queer things a life-time te poor foaks reveals,
Did aw ivor imadgin wor Geordy on wheels?

-Joe Wilson

Post - Top - Home - Printer Friendly - Translate

Subject: Lyr Add: Wor Fam'ley!- Joe Wilson
From: *#1 PEASANT*
Date: 29 Apr 06 - 06:02 AM

Wor fam'Ley!

Teun-"The Bells o' the Ball."

Ay, man, aw'm as happy as happy can be,
Wiv a nice little wife an' a fine fam'ley,
Aw nivvor get wearied o' singin thor praise,
For the comforts that roond about me they raise.

Korus. Teun- Matilda Tilly."

Thor's Tommy an' Fanny, thor byeth se canny,
Wi' bella se blithe an' free,
An' Sammy an' Fred, little Billy an' Ned,
An' Mary me wife, an' me!

There's Tommy the audist, a fine lad is he,
He's nigh oot he's time, then a maistor he'll be;
Then Fanny' the next, wiv her sewin masheen,
An' a real stiddy hard-warkin lass she's been.

Wor Bella's the next, an' aw hope that she'll be
The syem as wor Fanny,--but wild is she,
The canary upstairs cannet sing half as sweet,
An' ne fair aw've seen that can dance se neat.

Then Sammy's a queer un tho' just twelve eers aud,
But aw's certain he'll turn oot a real sharp lad;
He can play on the fiddle reet up te the mark,
An' can rite he's awn nyem just as weel as a clark.

Then Freddy, an' Billy, an' Ned gan te scheul,
But when thor at hyem, whey, the hoose's quite full,
For the wife, an' me-sel, an' the young uns myek nine,
An' aw'm weel settisfied wi' this fam'ley o' mine.

-Joe Wilson

Post - Top - Home - Printer Friendly - Translate

Subject: Lyr Add: The Flash Young Waiter- Joe Wilson
From: *#1 PEASANT*
Date: 29 Apr 06 - 06:10 AM

The Flash Young Waiter.

Teun-" Heh ye seen wor Jimmy?"

Thor's nyen aw've seen like Bobby,
He's drest se neat an' knobby,
An' besides he's not se gobby
As a lot o' lads ye'll see;
He's gyen te be a waiter,
Iv a big hotel a waiter,
Ay, an' he's a real forst-rater,
Whey, ye'll all agree wi' me.

Korus- Teun- "The Porambilayter."
Ay, an' he's a real forst-rater,
He's such a bonny lad, that he sets the lasses mad,
For they fancy the flash young waiter.

They say he's turn'd a prood un,
Wi' manners se intruding,
But oh, he's not a rude un,
Tho he's rethur fast aw'll say.
He weers a clean white choker,
He's like a maistor-broker,
Or a parson that's a joker,
If ye've seen a one that way.

His claes thor owt but bad uns,
Tho thor he's maistor's au duns,
He's smart without the paddins,
That a lot o' swells 'ill weer;
Wiv a waiter's best indivvor,
He lays the change doon clivor;
They nivvor tyek't, no nivvor,
For they knaw the laddy's dear!

The way he hands the glasses,
All uthers quite surpasses,
An' the hearts of a' the lasses
Beat te see the canny lad,--
He's smart, clean-myed, an' bonny,
He's wun the luv o' mony,
An' ill tyek the eyes ov ony
That can like a bonny lad!

-Joe Wilson

Post - Top - Home - Printer Friendly - Translate

Subject: Lyr Add: The Lass Wi' the Cast Iv her Eye
From: *#1 PEASANT*
Date: 29 Apr 06 - 06:18 AM

The Lass Wi' the Cast Iv Her Eye.

Teun- "The Mail Train Driver."

They call me sweetheart Barbrey,
An' a canny lass is she,
Foaks say that she's ne beauty,
Tho' she is one te me,
For aw see charms that they cannet see,
An' the time it's drawin nigh,
When aw's off te meet that bonny lass,
Wi' the cast iv her eye.

Korus. Teun-"The Tin Pot Band."

Ay, an' oh my!--aw cannet help but sigh
For that bonny young lass wi' the cast iv her eye!

The neybors say it's squintin,
But oh, aw'll nivvor hed,
For it's nowt like the cock-eye
O' me lang unkil Ned,
For the cast ont's se agreeable,
An' it myeks her luck se shy,
Tho' it twinkles when she's laffin se,
Dis that cast iv her eye.

Her tung, man, it's se bonny tee,
Aw like te hear her tawk.
The dyileckt se hyem-like,
When wor oot for a wawk;
Throo the vail she weers on Sunday neets,
Her sweet glances myek us sigh,
For like a buttor-flee in a summer-hoose,
Is that cast iv her eye.

Her fether keeps a keuk-shop,
Weel knawn alang the street,
So if aw cannet keep her,
Whey, wor a' reet for meat!
Man, it's eneuff te myek ye hung'ory,
An' gan in an' buy a pie,
Te see me lass stand behind the koonter,
Wi' that cast iv her eye!

-Joe Wilson

Post - Top - Home - Printer Friendly - Translate

Subject: Lyr Add: Meggie Upstairs- Joe Wilson
From: *#1 PEASANT*
Date: 29 Apr 06 - 06:27 AM

Meggie Upstairs.
Teun-"Jinny Jones."

Aw's weary, aw's wretched, aw's tired wi' waitin,
An' sighin becas maw dear sweetheart's not here,
Aw've tried soda wetter, besides beer an' brandy,
But nowt i' the sort me sad feelins can cheer,
Till agyen close beside us aw see bonny Meggie,
The barmaid, that for us, aw's flaid little cares,
But if she dissent like us, aw's pleased when aw see her,
Aw's waitin te shak hands wi' Meggie upstairs.

The beuts an' the waiter just laff at me sorrow,
The barman believes what aw say's nowt but fun,
An' the lasses around us get sick o' me playgin,
An' say, "Will ye just once for a minnit be deun?"
But oh, aw can beer a' they think or they menshun,
Becas they knaw little o' maw poor affairs,
An' aw whisper, "Cheer up, lad, ye may hev a chance yit,
Then Nil Desperandum for Meggie upstairs!

Aw's waitin wi'; payshuns cawse nowt else 'ill sarve us,
It's Sunday, but fiveo'clock's sartin te cum,
Then fresh as a daisy, aw'll see me sweet Meggie,
An' myek luv wi' nonsense till aw's nearly dum;
But me heart 'ill keep akin the time that wor laffin,
If aw think for a moment she nowt at a' cares
For the lad that's se constant te them that he fancies,
An' aay hoo he fancies sweet Meggie up stairs!

-Joe Wilson

Post - Top - Home - Printer Friendly - Translate

Subject: Lyr Add: Me Little Wife At Hyem!-Joe Wilson
From: *#1 PEASANT*
Date: 29 Apr 06 - 06:36 AM

Me Little Wife At Hyem!

Teun-"Newcassel is me Naytive Place."

Be the fire sittin knittin,
Sittin knittin wi' gud will,
As the clock keeps on its tickin,
Thor's the click o' needles still;
An' the hands that work the needles
Myek us fix me eyes at them,
For the pictor ov industry
Is me little wife at hyem.

Is me little wife, etc.

Tho she's little,-she's a model
O' what wimmin owt te be,
An' aw bliss her when aw cuddle
The bit form that clings te me;
For the strength o' wor affeckshun,
Aw cud nivvor find a nyem,
Whe's as kind as she's gud-luckin,
Is me little wife at hyem.

Is me little wife, etc.

Tho we heh wor share o' trubbil,
The bit comfort that we knaw,
Is we cannot hed myed dubbil,
When one's willin te bee'd a',
For when aw try te console her,
Whey, for me she'll de the syem,
An' aw'm thankful for the trissure
I' me little wife at hyem.

Wi' me little wife, etc.

Wor greet luv for one anuther
Myeks us happy when wor sad,
Aw call me wife me "canny lass!"
An' she calls me "her lad!"
Just as if we still war kortin,
Aye'n man, it's like the syem,
The hunnymeun 'ill heh ne end,
Wi' me little wife at hyem!

Wi' me little wife, etc.

-Joe Wilson

Post - Top - Home - Printer Friendly - Translate

Subject: Lyr Add: Geordey At the Races!-Joe Wilson
From: *#1 PEASANT*
Date: 29 Apr 06 - 06:48 AM

Geordey At the Races
Teun-"Moor Edge Nell."

One morn last June we teuk the train
Te the toon, -a mate an' me
Set off, drest up i' wor Sunday's claes,
The races there te see;
An' what we saw upon the moor,
Aw's gan te tell te ye,
An' hoo we spent the day when at the races.


Then haud yor jaw, an' aw'll let ye knaw,
The jolliest scenes that there aw saw;
Thor wes bonny young lasses, an' canny lads tee,
An' wereivor aw is aw like them te be!

We thowt we'd walk up te the korse,
So join'd amang the crood;
But oh, me corns wes sair abused,
That changed me happy mood,
Till on the moor,-byeth quite content
Beside the ring we stud,
Detarmin'd for enjoyment at the races.

Aw bet a croon wi' one greet swell,
An' a ticket he goh me;
"Just bring that back if yor horse shud win,
An' they aw'll pay," says he,
But what aw backt, whey, neivor wun,--
Aw fund it waddint de,
Te keep on buyin tickets at the races!

Then aw saw a chep sit on the grund,
An' work three cairds aboot,
An' offer te bet punds on punds
On one ye'd not find oot,-
Thinks aw, me man, ye'll not catch me
Wiv a' yor frinds aboot,-
A luck at ye'll sarve us at the races.

Then anuther chep sell'd purses, an'
Stud high upon a steul,
An' med the foaks think ivry puirse
Wi' silver wes chock full;
Thinks aw, man, ye talk over weel,
It's not ye that's the feul,
If onybody's a deun for at the races.

Then i' the tents we had wor pints,
An' smoked wor baccy tee,
An' pass'd the jokes wi' lad an' lass,
As joly cheps shud de,
For what's the gud o' gawn away,
Withoot ye hev a spree?
An' espeshley if ye gan tiv ony races.

-Joe Wilson

Post - Top - Home - Printer Friendly - Translate

Subject: Lyr Add: Cum Back Jack- Joe Wilson
From: *#1 PEASANT*
Date: 29 Apr 06 - 07:27 AM

Cum Back, Jack!

Teun-"Paddy, will ye noo."

"Noo what de ye stand at the door like that for?
Ye say that yor gawn on tramp the day;
If ye think it's best yor sair mistakin,
For ye'll find thor's hardship on the way!"

"So cum back, Jack,-wark it's slack,
But ye'll get yor whack o' what thor is."

"De ye think thor's nebody else se poor, lad?
De ye think thor's nebody else 'ill find
The hard times just as much as we de?
If ye de yor owther daft or blind!

"Tho poverty let's us knaw wor poor foaks,
Let's hope that ye'll get started seun;
It's a lang lane, Jack, that hes ne turning,--
Cheer up, me lad- gud times' ill cum!

"Yor rang if ye think wor toon's the warst off,
For I' bad times best at hyem ye'll be;
An' till times cum when we've plenty agyen,
Whey, we'll just he te try an' myek less de!"

-Joe Wilson

Post - Top - Home - Printer Friendly - Translate

Subject: Lyr Add: Aw Wundor What Jinny 'Ill Hev.- Joe Wils
From: *#1 PEASANT*
Date: 29 Apr 06 - 07:34 AM

"Aw Wundor What Jinny 'Ill Hev."

Teun- "The darkey Spark."

Aw wunder what wor Jinny 'ill hev!
Aw wundor what it 'ill be,
Aw's sure aw feel se narvis like,
Aw divvent knaw what te de,
For if cheps think thor gan te hev
A son or a bloomin dowter,
It myeks them wunder where they are
Whativor the doctor's browt her!

Oh, hi, ho! aw feel se queer, hi, ho!
Aw wundor what wor Jinny 'il hev,
A wundor what it 'ill be!

Aw hope it 'ill be a little lad,
An' then we'll myek him sumthing,
An' if he's not a champein greet,
Te me it's uite a rum thing.
Wr sure te myek him a real gud trade,
A cobbler or a tailor,
Or te save him ivor bein hung,
We'll send him for a sailor.

But if the lad shud be a lass,
Wativor gud wad she be?
She'd just grow up te put sum chep
I' the syem queer state as me,
She might be yeble te clean the hoose,
But if she turn'd oot lazy,
She'd myek us often crack her jaws,
An'send her muther crazy.

A wundor what it 'ill really be,
It bothers me for sartin,
But lad or lass, whativor it is,
Aw hope it 'll be a smart un!
But gox! if it shud turn oot twins,
The wife aw'll kiss an' cuddle,
Ay, an' knock the doctor doon for joy,
An' then gan on the fuddle!

-Joe Wilson

Post - Top - Home - Printer Friendly - Translate

Subject: Lyr Add: Sparrin At the Claes-Joe Wilson
From: *#1 PEASANT*
Date: 29 Apr 06 - 07:49 AM

Sparrin At the Claes
Or, Jack Henderson's Mistake.
Teun-"Absolam and Ruth."

Jack Henderson had a real randy wife,
As randy as ony can be,
Ne seuner the word then the blow wi' her,
An' often she myed Jack flee,
Till one neet he went an' got mortal drunk,
An' stagger'd quite bravely hyem.
Says he,"Aw'll knaw whe's the maister noo,
Or Henderson's not me nyem."

Jack Henderson's blud rose up tiv his nose,
An' he thowt tiv his-sel he wes sartinly reet,
"Te be maistor an' lord when he fund bed an' board,
An' if his life wes soor, that hers shuddent be sweet!"
An' aw'll tell ye all aboot Jack's mistake,
Throo getting se tight that neet!

The drink he had had flew up tiv his heed,
An' teuk greet effect on his eyes,
He nivvor luckt strite, but that neet he saw
Quite dubil, te his surprise.
His wife wes I' bed when he got te the hoose,
An' her claes hung behint the door.
He luckt at the dress-"Oh, yor there! says he,
He had tyekin the claes for her.

"So Mistriss Henderson, that's where ye are!"
Says Jack te the claes agyen,
"Ye've been meant te nail us when aw com in,
But ye'd got the warst on't then,
For aw've com hyem detarmin'd te let ye see
Aw's the lord an' maistor here,
So put up yor hands when aw call oot Time!
Aw'll seun gie yor lug' what cheer!"

Jack Sparr'd at the claes wi' the science o' Mace,
"Cum on, Peggy lass!" says he,
"Aw'll gie ye the hoose an' all in't te yor-sel,
If this time ye maistor me!
Are ye not gawn te speak? Then, ye slut, tyek this!"
Wi' that he let byeth hands flee;
Reet smack on the door his knuckles went bang,
"Yor byens is dam'd hard!" says he.

The noise myed his wife lowp oot ov her bed,
Then Jack saw his greet mistake;
They byeth wired in, without seconds or ring,
Till they myed the whole hoose shake;
They byeth got eneuff, neither wun or gov in,
An' as they rol'd on the floor,
The row ended like married foaks' silly rows,
Wi' byeth axin "What it wes for?"

-Joe Wilson

Post - Top - Home - Printer Friendly - Translate

Subject: Lyr Add: HE WANTS TE BE A MORMON (Joe Wilson)
From: *#1 PEASANT*
Date: 29 Apr 06 - 08:49 AM

He Wants Te Be A Mormon!

Teun- "Maw Bonny Injineer."

Ben Scaife had red o' the Mormons,
An' he thowt he'd like te be
A king o' wives, like Bringham Young,
I' connubial majesty.
But his wife she diddent fancy't,
"No," says she, "Aw'll tell ye, Ben,
Te be cock ov a' this midden,
Ye'll find me yor only hen!"

To be a Mormon Chief he wants,
Alang wi' fifty wives te dance:
But his wife 'ill not gie him the chance,
She dissent like the Mormons.

He tried wi' greet porswayshun
Te get Mally te give in,
An' quoted scriptor like a priest,
An' said it wes ne sin;
But sin or not she waddent hed,
Says she, "Noo just tried on,
An' bring a fancy wife te me,
An' see if us three's one!"

But i' fun or else i' earnest,
He browt one heym at neet,
An' sat her doon beside the fire,
I' Mally's favrit seat;
Then he preach'd a sarmin tiv her,
But that she diddent need,
For Mally wi' the fryin-pan
Com bang upon her heed!

Says Mally, "What heh ye cum for!
Ye hussey! de ye knaw?
If wor Ben wants another wife
He's pick'd ye frev a raw,
That's not content wi' fifty men,
For ivy man ye meet
Ye'd like te join yor tribe, ye slut!
The Mormons on the street!"

Then tiv her man brave Mally spoke-
"Ben, what heh ye te say?
If aw had got anuther chep,
An' browt him here the day,
Hoo wad ye fancied such like wark?
Ye bubbly-heeded cull,
Aw thowt aw'd got a man I' ye,
An' aw hev, an' he's a feul!"

-Joe Wilson

Post - Top - Home - Printer Friendly - Translate

Subject: Lyr Add: Hungry Geordey!-Joe Wilson
From: *#1 PEASANT*
Date: 29 Apr 06 - 09:05 AM

Hungry Geordey!
Air-"Pawnshop Blessin."

Wor Geordey's such a hungr'ry chep,
Aw divvent knaw what ails him;
It dissent matter what's set doon,
He's stomick nivvor fails him.
Wheniver he cums te the toon,
At Handyside's he'll settle doon,
It's Bolton's noo, an' he's the man
Te try an' myek yor teeth keep gawn,
At the end o' the New Grainger Street,
At feeding time nowt beats the treat
Provide at this keuk-shop
Thor's just a bob ye heh te pay
An' get a forst-class dinner,
An' if ye stump up eighteenpence,
For publican or sinner,
Ye heh yor choice o' what ye like;
For meat ye needn't gan on strike,
Thor's soups, an' ham, roast beef, an' tea.
Pies, pork, an' puddins ye may see
At this grand famous keuk-shop.

Wor Geordey knaws he hes his choice,
For payin eighteenpence, man,
So whenever he cums te the toon,
He gans,-for want o'sense, man;
He likes te best a' that he can,
He orders soup fresh frae the pan,
An' then he hes a plate o' beef,
An' then a plate o' pie, the thief!
An' powls them off like fun, man.

One day he set off te the place,
An' had two plates o' mutton,
An' efter that a plate o' pork,
The greet thick-heeded glutton,
Peas-puddin next, an' apple-tart,
Ye'd thowt 'twad really myed him start
Te think a shem, but efter peas,
He nearly ett a roond o' cheese,
The greet big gormandizer!

The next day the greet stupid cull
Wes bad as he cud be, man,
For cheps shud nivvor think that they
Can eat a' that they see, man;
Byeth Epsom Salts an' Castor Oil,
He teuk te myek the stuff te boil;
It sarves him reet,-for if I' need,
What a chep wants is a real gud feed,
An' not a belly buster!

-Joe Wilson

Post - Top - Home - Printer Friendly - Translate

Subject: Lyr Add: Lally!-Joe Wilson
From: *#1 PEASANT*
Date: 29 Apr 06 - 09:13 AM

Teun-"Wor Family."

Cum listen, me lads, an' ww'll gie ye gud news,
That's sartin te please a' the scullers an' crews,
His chief backer's sarvints byeth often tell'd me
That Lally, thor fayvrit, the champein 'ill be.

An' Mally an Sally declare that Lally
The champein's sure te be,
An' Lally tell'd Sally, an' Sally tell'd Mally,
I's as sure as owt ivor ye'll see.

He was born for a hero;-at Alnwick se grand
Ne Gallowgate lad like brave Lally cud stand,
But the gun iv his hand hes ne chance wi' the scull,
For if lickt for a boat, whey, the Dredger he''d pull.

He's a thorough-bred game un for distance an' speed,
An' thor's ne man alive can put oot ov his heed
What he thinks he can de, an' aw'll ventor te say
He wad pull fifty matches, ay, day efter day.

If ye doot maw opinion, Pete Hewitt 'ill tell
Far mair then aw knaw, or he knaws hes-sel,
An' whe'll beat Joe Sadler, whenivor he's had,
Ax Lally his-sel, an' he'll say he's the lad!

-Joe Wilson

Post - Top - Home - Printer Friendly - Translate

Subject: Lyr Add: Hear the Deeth-Bed O' Bessie!-Joe Wilson
From: *#1 PEASANT*
Date: 29 Apr 06 - 09:21 AM

Near the Deeth-Bed O' Bessie!
Teun-"Teddy O'Neill."

Near the deeth-bed o' Bessie, hoo sad, an' hoo lonely,
Her fethur an' muther thor weary watch kept,
An' prayed thor Creator might ease her pain only,
Or tyek here te hivvin, poor thing, as she slept;
For she'd suffer'd se lang, an' the hoose once se cheerful,
Wes noo the forerunner o' nowt but the grave,
As they gazed on her form, wi' thor eyes reed an' tearful,
They knew thor wes nowt little Bessie cud save.

Thor forst-born lay there, before two hearts nigh broken,
An' the whispers they murmur'd browt ne hope at a',
The hopes they wad utter'd kept back, still unspoken,
For Deeth wes before them, an' that they byeth saw;
Just fower years since hoo they'd welcum'd thor Bessie,
A bairn, born se bonny, te claim nowt but praise,
An' thor frinds a' declared she was such a fine lassie,
An angel on earth, -sent te gladden thor days.

But noo, for her leet little step they might listen,
They'd nivvor heer'd mair, the young couple te cheer,
An' the sweet little tung, that oft myed thor eyes glissen,
Wad prattle ne mair for its parents te hear;
They luckt at the creddle that noo stud se empty,
Then luckt at the bed, as they byeth held thor breeth,
But Bessie, thor darling an' pet, noo had gyen te
That haven o' rest te be fund efter Deeth!

-Joe Wilson

Post - Top - Home - Printer Friendly - Translate

Subject: Lyr Add: The Pork-Shop Lass- Joe Wilson
From: *#1 PEASANT*
Date: 29 Apr 06 - 09:29 AM

The Pork-Shop Lass.
Air-"Bellle of Baltimore."

Ye may tawk aboot yor barmaids,
An' lanlord's dowters, tee,
But they're a matter o' fancy
Te sum, but not te me;
An' thor's some that like the sarvints,
Dressmakers, tee, as weel,
But the whole o' thor affecshun's
Ne chance wi' what aw feel.


Oh my, myest ivery fella
Tyeks a' fance te maw Bella,
Thor like te de-for she's forst-class,
But aw's the one for the pork-shop lass!

Like a queen behint the counter,
She'll stand an' calmly sarve,
An' myek such-clivor sanwitches,
She's just the one te carve
A roond o' beef or leg o' pork,
She cuts se neat an' clean,
Her eyes thor like the knife an' fork,
They've cut me hear se keen.

When the gas is brightly burnin,
It lets up a' the street,
An' the foaks stand at the window,
Admirin pig's meat;
But oh, ma Bella's best of a'
The greet attracshuns there,
For when aw see her fat reed fyece,
She's a' me joy an' care.

Byeth sassidge, pies, an' saveloys,
Sink law I' maw esteem,
Black puddins an' white puddins, tee,
Aw eat them iv a dream;
Pig's tripe an' fry, an' potted heed,
May stand the public test,
But i' the shop,-an' aw'm a judge,
The pork-shop lass's best.

-Joe Wilson

Post - Top - Home - Printer Friendly - Translate

Subject: Lyr Add: Cawd Feet- Joe Wilson
From: *#1 PEASANT*
Date: 29 Apr 06 - 09:40 AM

Cawd Feet
Teun-"Cappy's the Dog."

Aw's not a Phissishun te neym a greet cure,
But aw knaw some complents just as weel, an' aw's sure
Thor's nowt that a chep finds i' hoose, bed, or street,
That spoils a' wor comfort like hevin cawd feet.

Wi' hevin cawd feet, throo the day or a neet,
Thor's nowt spoils wor comfort like hevin cawd feet.

Coo heel an' sheep's trotters shud always be cawd,
Withoot thor i' pies then thor not at all bad,
But them's not the subject aw mean for te treat,
For the theme o' me sang is yor awn canny feet.

Just imagine yor-sel on a cawd rainy day,
On the road or the grass, an' yor beuts givin way,
As they squirt on the flags as ye gan throo the street,
What a blissin 'twad be if ye'd only warm feet.

Then hoo bitter it is I' the frost or the snaw,
Wi' yor toes fairly numb'd an' yor nose a' reed raw,
An' ye wish te yor-sel i' the nesty wet sleet,
Ye cud shuv i' yor pockets yor pair o' cawd feet.

Then I' bed when ye feel se delightfully het,
An' se cosy yor just getting intiv a swett,
Hoo ye shoot when ye find yor warmest place meet
The touch o' sumbody's real icy-cawd feet.

An' it's owt but a treat, for sombody's cawd feet
Te kittle ye up I' yor bed throo the neet!

-Joe Wilson

Post - Top - Home - Printer Friendly - Translate

Subject: Lyr Add: Run Efter Him,Maw Bonny Bairn-Joe Wilson
From: *#1 PEASANT*
Date: 29 Apr 06 - 10:03 AM

Run Efter Him, Maw Bonny Bairn

Air-"Three hevin Nowt te de."

Ruyn efter him, maw bonny bairn,
An' bring him back te me,
He's been byeth a gud-man te me,
An' bad as he cud be,
But ivrybody hes thor falts,
An he mun heh the syem,
It wassent reet te cawse such rows,
In such a canny hyem.

Run efter him, maw bonny bairn,
He's mevvies on the spree,
But try yor best te coax him hyem,
An' bring him back te me!

Aw thowt when he myed such a wage,
He might heh been content,
Te save up for a rainy day,
But all wes quickly spent;
Then he wad de nowt else but tick,
Till they wad tick ne mair,
An' noo when he's got wark agyen,
The hoose is just as bare.

Such wark as this myeks us fall oot,
Altho when he behaves,
It myeks us byeth se happy like,
An' a' such trubble saves;
Run efter him, an' bring him back,
For when he's kind te me,
The words we've had aw clean forget,
Then happy byeth are we.

-Joe Wilson

Post - Top - Home - Printer Friendly - Translate

Subject: Lyr Add: Kickin the Deevil Doonstairs- Joe Wilson
From: *#1 PEASANT*
Date: 29 Apr 06 - 10:26 AM

Kickin The Deevil Doonstairs!

Teun-"The Suit O' Corduroy"

One neet aw went upstairs te bed
Te hev a quiet snooze,
For awe wes fairly tired oot,
Me eyes show'd they'd refuse
Te keep open ony langer,
So byeth aw gently closed,
An' there aw lay awhile asleep,
An' innocent reposed!

Listen te me story, strange as it may seem,
And Nick iv his glory, aw pummil'd iv a dream

At last aw sees a figgor dark
Gan slawly roond the room,
Then cum reet up te maw bedside,
An' calmly there sit doon;
At forst aw cuddent myek't clean oot,
But haddent lang te wait,
Till aw fund it was the devil
Cum te proffissy me fate.

Says he, "Are ye prepared te gan?
Ye've sarved us noo se lang,
An thowt aw might as weel call in
For feare owt might be wrang.
Aw like te tyek care o' me bairns,
An' so aw wish them hyem,
They enjoy thor-sels forst-rate belaw,
An' ye can de the syem!"

Says aw, "If yor aud Nick, me man,
Ye'd better gan away,
For if aw want te vbisit ye,
Aw'll let ye knaw sum day,
But if it myeks ne difference,
Aw heh ne noshunm yit,
If ye want te knaw the reason,
The weather's ower het!

Says he, "Young man, don't cod yor pa!"
Says aw, "Thor's ne paws here,
For its nowt but ded an' fethur,
Roond a' the Tyne an' Wear."
He rapt his tail reet roond me waist,
Says he, "Young man, here goes!"
But te let him see aw'd science,
Aw nail'd him on the nose.

Ye mebbies think this wes a dream,
A divvent say it's not,
But aud Nick iv a' his life-time
Nivvor felt it se hot.
Aw got him be the scruff o' the neck,
An' whether i' fun or fairs,
An;' whether it wes a dream or not,
Aw kickt him reet doonstairs!

-Joe Wilson

Post - Top - Home - Printer Friendly - Translate

Subject: Lyr Add: I It Haddent Been Her Nose!-Joe Wilson
From: *#1 PEASANT*
Date: 29 Apr 06 - 10:37 AM

If It Haddent Been Her Nose!
Teun-"Irish Mally, O!"

Aw thowt aw'd nivvor fall in luv,
But, lads, aw've been deceived;
For aw think mair o' me sweetheart
Then aw ivor wad believed.
She's a reglor queen frae Sangit,
She's a beauty ye'll supose,
An' she wad been if she haddent
Such a real one-sided nose!

It's a pitty that it spoils her,
For her cheek's just like the rose;
An' she'd been a reglor beauty
If it haddent been her nose!

It's neither pug nor Roman,
Nor it's neither broad nor short;
It's neither sunb nor Grecian,
Nor the turn'-up kind o' sort.
It just lies te one side a bit;
An' te suit byeth frinds an' foes,
It sticks tiv its awn business
Like a gudone-sided nose!

Aw thowt it might hev been a blow
She'd got when just a bairn,
That knockt it te one side that way;
But her muther myed us lairn-
That she haddent been five minnits born,
When the midwife, aw suppose,
Bein' squintin when she nipt it,
Goh the bairn a cock-eyed nose!

She's fat, she's fair, not forty,
Wiv a heart byeth kind an' warm;
Besides, she's nice an' stoutly built,
Maw luvin breest te charm.
Her fut wad myek a fairy blush;
She's sprightly on her toes;
But aw cannet luck intiv her fyece
Withoot aw see her nose!

-Joe Wilson

Post - Top - Home - Printer Friendly - Translate

Subject: Lyr Add: When Aw Wesh Me-sel!-Joe Wilson
From: *#1 PEASANT*
Date: 29 Apr 06 - 11:47 AM

When Aw Wesh Me-Sel!

Teun-"Moor Edge Nell."

Says Geordey-"Aw'm a pitman,
But as shy as uther men;
Aw'm as modest as a chep can be
When aw'm away frae hyem;
But the lass next door just myeks us,
I' wor hoose, the varry syem,
For she always cums in when aw'm gawn te wesh me-sel.

"She's a flighty las, an' a forward lass;
She's an ignorant sort ov a kind ov a lass;
She myeks us feel hoo, whey, aw hardly can tell,
For she always cums in when aw wesh me-sel,
When aw wesh me-sel, when aw wesh me-sel,
She always cums in when aw wesh me-sel;
She myeks us feel hoo, whey, aw hardly can tell,
For she always cums in when aw wesh me-sel.

"A pitman hest e strip an' wesh
Like ne one but he'sel;
So, if he's sensitive at a',
Or tendere notions dwell
Within his breest, he's sure te feel
Sumway aw cannet tell,
If a strange lass cums in when he's gan te wesh he' sel.

"If she'd been browt up beside us,
Whey, aw waddent felt as shy,
But lately she's cukm te the place,
An' since she teuk me eye,
Aw'm narvis, though before her,
Te luck brave aw' always try,
But she always cums in when aw'm gan te wesh me-sel.

"As seun as aw cum frae the pit,
An' just tyek off me shart,
She cums in wiv her laffin eyes,
Drest up se clean an'' smart,
Aw feel as if inte me mooth,
Aw'd nearly got me heart,
An' aw blush, an' divvent knaw what te do wi' me-sel.

"A wunder if it's luv that myeks
Us frighten'd ov her gaze?
Aw wundor if she'd blush if aw
Cud see her iv her stays?
If this is luv, it puts us in
The funniest kind ov ways,
An' aw wish she'd just keep outside when aw wesh me-sel!"

-Joe Wilson

Post - Top - Home - Printer Friendly - Translate

Subject: Lyr Add: The Fitter Sweep!-Joe Wilson
From: *#1 PEASANT*
Date: 29 Apr 06 - 11:53 AM

The Fitter Sweep!
A Fact

Teun-"Benny 'ill not gan te Scheul,"

Aw'll sing ye a sang aboot Peter Broon,
A through-bred sweep i' this varry toon;
He got engaged te clean a forst-rate flue,
An' fell i' luv wi' the sarvint lass,-it's true!

Oh, but, lads, when yor courting, deceit 'ill nivvor de;
She believed him as Peter believed her;
When yor married, ye'll see hoo yor happiness 'ill flee,
As' yor wife 'ill not forget hoo ye deceived her.

He teuk greet big oaths, which he swor he'd keep,
But Sarah said she waddent wed a sweep;
"But aw'm a fitter in disguise!" he says,-
An' te pass for one, he bowt sum fustin claes.

He went te labour, an' appeared quite flash;
Wi' square an' calipers he cut a dash;
An' she believed that a' he said wes true,
Till they got married, an' then she myed him rue.

On Seturday, Sarah wes iv a rage,
Says she-"Is sixteen bob yor only wage?"
Here he confessed his trade a sweep te be,
Noo day an' neet she keeps him in misery.

-Joe Wilson

Post - Top - Home - Printer Friendly - Translate

Subject: Lyr Add: Sivilised-Joe Wilson
From: *#1 PEASANT*
Date: 29 Apr 06 - 12:01 PM

Teun-"The Miller of the Dee."

We get sivilised mair evry day,
An' foaks imagin they shud be
Far better then them in eers gyen by,
But hoo they are aw cannet see;
Thor better off in a worldly way,
Improvements spring up a' throo time,
Bad deeds wi' fin nyems may less appear,
But still thor's just as much o' crime

Did Adam wi' Eve his wife agree?
Had they mair then wor daily strife?
Ye'll find relations as bad as Cain,
As keen te tyek each uther's life,
We've got Airmstrang guns te keep the peace,
An' deedly arms nyen had before,
A hundred thousand we seun can kill,
They'd nowt like these I' days o' yore.

But when will men bring happier days?
They'll turn the world clean inside oot,
Myken troubles a plisure as they
Often heaven an' orth dispute;
Can they not, wi' a' thor wondrous skil,
Invent or find oot sum gud plan,
Te heh that influence te myek man
Act mair like a brother te man?

-Joe Wilson

Post - Top - Home - Printer Friendly - Translate

Subject: Lyr Add: Wor Feulish Ned!- Joe Wilson
From: *#1 PEASANT*
Date: 29 Apr 06 - 02:43 PM

Wor Feulish Ned!
Teun-"The Lazy Lasses o' Branton."

Wor Ned at one time wes a canny young lad,
He wes stiddy as ony cud be, man,
But noo wiv a crew that 'ill seun myek him rue,
He's myest ivery day on the spree, man.

He starts reet away on the Seturday neets,
An ' he's nivvor at hyem on a Sunday,
But fuddles away a' the neet an' the day,
An' he's always se bad on the Monday.

Wor Ned at one time wes so weel off for claes,
He luckt quite a swell tiv his bruthers,
But noo dort an' rags cover beer-carryin bags,
That he hessint a chance wi' the tethers.

Wor Ned at one time wasn't pinch'd for his brass,
He had plenty te spend an' te spare, man,
But noo he's hard up like a gud-for-nowt pup,
An' nebody for that seems to care, man.

Wor Ned at one time wes se varry weel off,
That he nivvor for owt need to seek, man,
Noo a shillin's a treat on a Seturday neet,
An' then he's hard up a' the week, man.

Wor Ned wes a sensible canny-like lad,
Fit te cum oot I' day-leet or dark, man,
He's nowt like the syem, but like one wi' ne hyem,
He's an outcast, throo his feulish wark, man.

-Joe Wilson

Post - Top - Home - Printer Friendly - Translate

Subject: Lyr Add: The Second Fiddler- Joe Wilson
From: *#1 PEASANT*
Date: 29 Apr 06 - 02:52 PM

The Second Fiddler
Tuen-"Heh ye seen wor Jimmy?"

Wor Jimmy's nearly crazy,
He's torned se fond o' music;
Myest ivry day he deaves ye
Wi' the noise that he calls grand.
He's always hard at practice
On sumthing instrumental;
An' he says he' seun be leader
Ov the Royal Theatre band.

An' he'll seun be a real forst-rater,
He plays the second fiddle
Te the chep that's in the middle
Ov the band at the Royal Theatre

At forst he tried the kornet,
But that was sumthing awful,
An' the clarinet's wild screeches
Myed wor fingers stop wor ears;
Wi' the flute he got ne better,
For he'd such a changing fancy,
Till he went an' bowt a fiddle,
An' fill'd a' the hoose wi' tears.

Wi' breest ful ov ambition,
An' manners captivatin,
Sum actress or sum singer
He'll try hard te myek his bride;
Then te concerts or theatres,
Like a gentleman, he'll carry,
Se carefully, her music,
Wiv his head stuck high wi' pride.

But time might bring sum changes
Te the job's that's nice an' easy,
Tho his wife might think it's plenty
For the one I' she confindes;
But a chep that carries music
Might heh bairns as weel te carry,
An' it mightn't always suit him
Te heh music on byeth sides.

-Joe Wilson

Post - Top - Home - Printer Friendly - Translate

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.

"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

Post - Top - Home - Printer Friendly - Translate

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

Post - Top - Home - Printer Friendly - Translate

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.

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

Post - Top - Home - Printer Friendly - Translate

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

Post - Top - Home - Printer Friendly - Translate

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.

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

Post - Top - Home - Printer Friendly - Translate

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

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

Post - Top - Home - Printer Friendly - Translate

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

Post - Top - Home - Printer Friendly - Translate

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

Post - Top - Home - Printer Friendly - Translate

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

Post - Top - Home - Printer Friendly - Translate

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.

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

Post - Top - Home - Printer Friendly - Translate

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.

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

Post - Top - Home - Printer Friendly - Translate

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?

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

Post - Top - Home - Printer Friendly - Translate

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

Post - Top - Home - Printer Friendly - Translate

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

Post - Top - Home - Printer Friendly - Translate

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.

"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

Post - Top - Home - Printer Friendly - Translate

Subject: Lyr Add: Charley's Across the Sea-Joe Wilson
From: *#1 PEASANT*
Date: 07 May 06 - 11:31 AM

(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.

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

Post - Top - Home - Printer Friendly - Translate

From: *#1 PEASANT*
Date: 10 May 17 - 08:07 PM

Joe Wilson



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

Post - Top - Home - Printer Friendly - Translate

From: *#1 PEASANT*
Date: 10 May 17 - 08:09 PM


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

Post - Top - Home - Printer Friendly - Translate

Subject: Lyr Add: ABSENT FRIENDS.
From: *#1 PEASANT*
Date: 10 May 17 - 08:11 PM


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.


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.

Post - Top - Home - Printer Friendly - Translate

From: *#1 PEASANT*
Date: 10 May 17 - 08:13 PM


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.

Post - Top - Home - Printer Friendly - Translate

From: *#1 PEASANT*
Date: 10 May 17 - 08:14 PM

(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

Post - Top - Home - Printer Friendly - Translate

From: *#1 PEASANT*
Date: 10 May 17 - 08:16 PM


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.

Post - Top - Home - Printer Friendly - Translate

From: *#1 PEASANT*
Date: 10 May 17 - 08:19 PM

(Joe Wilson)


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!

Post - Top - Home - Printer Friendly - Translate

From: *#1 PEASANT*
Date: 10 May 17 - 08:21 PM


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.

Post - Top - Home - Printer Friendly - Translate

From: *#1 PEASANT*
Date: 10 May 17 - 08:22 PM

(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.

Post - Top - Home - Printer Friendly - Translate

Subject: Lyr Add: LAUGHING EYES.
From: *#1 PEASANT*
Date: 10 May 17 - 08:24 PM


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.

Post - Top - Home - Printer Friendly - Translate

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.



Post - Top - Home - Printer Friendly - Translate

Subject: RE: Lyr Add: In Memory of the Hartley Catastrophe
From: Joe Offer
Date: 10 May 17 - 09:32 PM

VOLUME III 1860-1900
Edited by John Goodridge
Associate Editor Bridget Keegan

There's a pre-print excerpt here:

Post - Top - Home - Printer Friendly - Translate

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)
       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)

Post - Top - Home - Printer Friendly - Translate

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.

Post - Top - Home - Printer Friendly - Translate

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.

Post - Top - Home - Printer Friendly - Translate

Subject: Lyr Add: Pretty sweetheart, jessie may
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.

Post - Top - Home - Printer Friendly - Translate

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.


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.

Post - Top - Home - Printer Friendly - Translate

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.


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.


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.


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,


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.


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.


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.


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.


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.


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.

Post - Top - Home - Printer Friendly - Translate

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.


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.

Post - Top - Home - Printer Friendly - Translate

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.

Post - Top - Home - Printer Friendly - Translate

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.


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.

Post - Top - Home - Printer Friendly - Translate

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.

Post - Top - Home - Printer Friendly - Translate

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!


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.


Post - Top - Home - Printer Friendly - Translate

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 !

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."

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.

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."

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 !


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."

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"


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 !

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.


-Source: Joe Wilson,(author) Songs and Drolleries, 1890.

Post - Top - Home - Printer Friendly - Translate

Subject: RE: Songs/Poems of Joe Wilson
From: *#1 PEASANT*
Date: 11 May 17 - 06:05 PM

thanks- corrected:


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

Post - Top - Home - Printer Friendly - Translate

Subject: RE: Songs/Poems of Joe Wilson
From: *#1 PEASANT*
Date: 12 May 17 - 10:13 PM


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,


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

Post - Top - Home - Printer Friendly - Translate

Subject: RE: Songs/Poems of Joe Wilson
From: *#1 PEASANT*
Date: 12 May 17 - 10:36 PM


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

" 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

Post - Top - Home - Printer Friendly - Translate

Subject: RE: Songs/Poems of Joe Wilson
From: *#1 PEASANT*
Date: 13 May 17 - 12:24 PM


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

Post - Top - Home - Printer Friendly - Translate

Subject: RE: Songs/Poems of Joe Wilson
From: *#1 PEASANT*
Date: 13 May 17 - 12:37 PM


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 !


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

Post - Top - Home - Printer Friendly - Translate

Subject: RE: Songs/Poems of Joe Wilson
From: *#1 PEASANT*
Date: 13 May 17 - 12:49 PM


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

Post - Top - Home - Printer Friendly - Translate

Subject: RE: Songs/Poems of Joe Wilson
From: *#1 PEASANT*
Date: 13 May 17 - 01:02 PM



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.


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

Post - Top - Home - Printer Friendly - Translate

Subject: RE: Songs/Poems of Joe Wilson
From: *#1 PEASANT*
Date: 13 May 17 - 02:02 PM


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

Post - Top - Home - Printer Friendly - Translate

Subject: RE: Songs/Poems of Joe Wilson
From: *#1 PEASANT*
Date: 13 May 17 - 04:27 PM


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.


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

Post - Top - Home - Printer Friendly - Translate

Subject: RE: Songs/Poems of Joe Wilson
From: *#1 PEASANT*
Date: 13 May 17 - 04:46 PM


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

Post - Top - Home - Printer Friendly - Translate

Subject: RE: Songs/Poems of Joe Wilson
From: *#1 PEASANT*
Date: 13 May 17 - 04:58 PM


TEUN-"Wor a Band 0' Bruthers."

OH, me heart's full 0' depresshun,
That aw cannet help expressin,
What ye'll tyek as a confesshun,
0' the luv aw beer for ye;
For aw like ye better, Mally,
Then Nan Robson's dowter Sally,
Tho she's "'Sally in wor Alley,"
Still it's yor the lass for me !

Koddin Korus.

TEUN-"Johnny Smoker."

De ye say se? de ye say se?
Gudness grayshus! de ye say se?
Gudness grashus! de ye say se?

Yis, it's true, Mall, what aw'm sayin,
Tho yor little 'tenshun payin,
Wi' me hopes an' fears yor playin,
Tho it's owt but play te me;
So then pity this sad feelin,
That frae heed te heels is stealin,
An' hev marcy on a keelman,
That wad leeve or dee for ye !


Vis, aw say se, yor me dear un,
Then let's hev an answor cheerin,
For a moment stop yor jeerin
On a luv-struck sowl like me,
Then for ivvor aw's yor debtor,
An' aw'll gan te wark far better,
An' aw'll sing when on the wetter,
Wiva heart byeth leet an' free!


Vis, aw say se, yor me best un,
An' te ye aw pop the questin,
Ye may really think aw'm jestin,
But aw's seerious as can be;
Then say Yis! aw's iv a hurry,
Aw mun seun gan te me whurry,
If ye say ye winnet marry,
Te the drink aw'll surely flee!

Source: Joe Wilson,(author) Songs and Drolleries, 1890

Post - Top - Home - Printer Friendly - Translate

Subject: RE: Songs/Poems of Joe Wilson
From: *#1 PEASANT*
Date: 13 May 17 - 05:07 PM


AJR-"Black-Eyed Susan."

SAD, sad's me heart, an' aw greet full sair,
Beside war hero's lowly bed,
Te think aw'll see me aud frind ne mair,
The frind that forst Tyne famous myed;
The forst an' last 0' wor greet Tyneside men,
Poor Harry Clasper, poor Harry Clasper,
Gyen! for ivor gyen!

Sharp wes the blow, like the leetnin's dart,
Deeth claim'd the vet'ran as its awn,
An' filled wi' pain iv'ry beatin heart
For him we'd luv'd, for him we'd knawn;
The forst boat-builder for wor Tyneside men,
Poor Harry Clasper, poor Harry Clasper,
Gyen! ay, deed an' gyen.

He's left the hyem that he luv'd se weel,
The "Coaly Tyne" his constant pride,
The frinds that lang, lang his loss 'ill feel,
An' luv'd ones that he's left beside;
The forst brave Champein 0' war Tyneside men,
Poor Harry Clasper, poor Harry Clasper,
Gyen, ay, deed an' gyen.

Sair, sair he greev'd when Bob Chambers dee'd,
The world's greet Champein he had myed,
Wi' nyems combined, byeth 0' Tyneside breed,
An' honest upreet life they led,
Two gems, examples for a' Tyneside men,
Poor Harry Clasper, poor Harry Clasper,
An' Bob Chambers gyen!

Fareweel, aud frinds, ye've byeth run yor race,
An' mem'ry whispers this te me,
We'll find ne Champeins te fill yor place,
Tyneside affeckshuns clings te ye;
The forst greet heroes amang Tyneside men,
Poor Harry Clasper, poor Harry Clasper,
Au' Bob Chambers gyen!

Source: Joe Wilson,(author) Songs and Drolleries, 1890

Post - Top - Home - Printer Friendly - Translate

Subject: RE: Songs/Poems of Joe Wilson
From: *#1 PEASANT*
Date: 14 May 17 - 12:09 PM


TEUN- "When gud luck shows its fyece."

"Aw's a wummin that minds ne affairs but me awn,"
Says lang Nancy Joblin te me,
"But aw think thor's sum things that a body shud knaw,
An' sum things that a body shud see;
There's the neybor abuv been a fortneet upstairs,
An' aw cannet for munny or Iuv
Get te knaw whe she is,-neethur where she cums frae,
She's a myst'ry that neybor abuv;
Yis she is,
She's a queer un that neybor abuv.

"For lucks she wad pass iv a crood, ye wad say,
An' her figor's not really bad myed;
She's got sofa, chairs, cheeney cups, an' gud ware,
An' a new fower-powl feather bed;
An' a fine chist 0' draw'rs, an' a black satin dress,
An' her hand's nivvor clear ov a gluv;
Aw've thowt she's a widow,-but sometimes aw think not,
She's a myst'ry that neybor abuv;
Yis she is,
She's a queer un that neybor abuv!

"The forst Munday neet she went oot te the play,
On Tuesday she went there agyen,
On Wednesday mornin she nivvor got up,
Had her brickfist i' bed aboot ten,
Got her dinner at three,-nivvor had ony tea;
Be the smell ov her breeth aw cud proove
Thor wes sumthing had gyen doon her throttle mair strang,
She's a cawshun that neybor abuv.
Yis she is,
She's a mazer that neybor abuv.

"On Thursday a sowljor ran briskly upstairs,
An' stopt nearly a' the whole day;
A sailor at neet nearly stopt te dayleet,
An' for days they've gyen on i' that way;
But whichivor's her man aw can nivvor conseeve,
For they all appear'd deeply i' luv;
Ne better is she-then a wummin shud be,
She's a cramper that neybor abuv;
Yis she is,
She's a queer un that neybor abuv!

" But last week a noise myed us open me eyes,
For the sowljor an' sailor had met
On the stairs,-an' a fight like a public-hoose row
Teuk place i' the eyes 0' thor pet;
But she stopt it wi' thrawin dorty wetter doon stairs,
Then she hoy'd them byeth oot wiv a shuv;
Aw've seen them ne mair, neether knaw them nor care,
She's a geezer that neybor abuv!
Yis she is,
She's a cawshun that neybor abuv!"

Source: Joe Wilson,(author) Songs and Drolleries, 1890

Post - Top - Home - Printer Friendly - Translate

Subject: RE: Songs/Poems of Joe Wilson
From: *#1 PEASANT*
Date: 14 May 17 - 12:22 PM


TEUN- "Doran's Ass," or "Finnigan's Wake."

"OH, what's the metter wi' ye, Meg Dawson?
Oh what's the metter wi' ye the day?
Ye luck as if ye war gan demented,
Yor eyes thor stairin just that way!"
"The metter wi' me,-if ye want te knaw then,
Heh ye heard the news frae Mary White?
She says wor Jack for a sowljor's listed,
The heed-strang feul's i' the Ninety-Ite,

"Wiv a lot 0' lads that's se lang been famed
For nowt that's gud, nor they nivor will;
Industrious cheps that wad nivvor work
If they just cud raise a penny gill.
He'll heh teun the shillin te sarve the queen,
Wi' ne idea 0' gannin te fight;
If he thowt thor wes ony chance 0' war,
He wad bid gud-bye te the Ninety-Ite.

"He nivvor liked wark, an' since he wes britch'd
He hessent cared hoo he got his meat;
Wiv his elbows oot he wad trail the streets,
An' the Peelers mark'd him on thor beat.
He wad argey owt for a pint 0' beer,
An' i' dominoes he teuk delite
l' playin a blank tiv a five or six,
They'll not stand that i' the Ninety-Ite.

"On Seturday neets what a swell he was,
Wi' velvet cap an' black curdyroys;
He wes famous for myekin ruffs keep still,
Tho the forst his-sel te myek a noise;
He knew if he married he cuddent keep
A wife,so he teuk one oot 0' spite,
Ay, an' he myed her muther an' her keep him,
A nice young chep for the Ninety-Ite,

"Aw's sartin we'll nivor can buy him off,
For hoo can poor foaks like us did?
What a pity a gud-like fyece an' heed
Like his, shud carry ne brains wid;
Blud's thicker then wetter-that's true eneuff
He's still war awn, tho a cawshun quite,
But bad as he is, they may de him gud,
An' myek him a man i' the Ninety-Ite."

Luv myed Jimmy Jollyfyece walk three miles te se his
sweetheart the barmaid, an' he fund it get that strang
that he cuddent find his way hyem agyen; but paid
five shillins an' costs for the use ov a bed in the New
Pollis Stayshun.

Source: Joe Wilson,(author) Songs and Drolleries, 1890

Post - Top - Home - Printer Friendly - Translate

Subject: RE: Songs/Poems of Joe Wilson
From: *#1 PEASANT*
Date: 14 May 17 - 12:36 PM


TEUN-"Jinny Nettle,"

"WHERE heh ye been, lass? cum an' tell us, Jinny, hinny,
Where heh ye been, lass? stoppin oot se late;
Where heh ye been, lass? cum an' tell yor sister, hinny,
Where heh ye been, lass? lang yeve made us wait;
Aw waddent wundor ye've' been kortin, feelins hortin, wi yor flortin,
Yor play'n the deuse wi' Harry Burton,
Divvent brick he's heart, lass 1"

(Sing the forst fower lines for the Korns.)

"What's that bit frame there, glis'nin like a gooldin ginney?
Is't Harry's portrait ?-heh ye lost yor tung?
What myeks ye frighten'd ?-let us see the pictor, hinny,
Then beside yor awn we'll seun hed nicely hung;
Let's hey a luck, maw canny sister, when aw miss her, hoo aw bliss her,
So cum an' let us cuddle, kiss her,Let us see the portrait! "


"What's that aw see, lass? it issent Harry Burton's likeness,
That's Tommy Greener's, ye knaw that he's me lad.
Did he gie ye that ?-tell us, willye, hoo ye got it?
Whe heh ye been with? divvent myek us bad!
Oh, hinny, Jinny, quick an' tell us, for aw's jeIlous,-if the fellow
Fancies ye before yor Bella,Faith aw's fairly deun for! "


"Oh, Bella, sister. dinnet think that aw wad harm ye,
Tom gos the portrait, an' tell'd us te gie ye'd;
Doon street we met, an' aw meant te keep't a bit te plague ye,
Noo aw've tell'd ye all aw'm like a pris'ner freed;
Since aw met him aw've been wi' Harry,-canny Harry says he'll marry
Me,-an' noo he's bowt a whurry,
What de ye think 0' that, lass?
That's where aw'vebeen lass,if the truth aw heh to tell ye,
Been wi' me awn lad, canny Harry Burton! "

(Repeat last two lines for last Korus.)

Source: Joe Wilson,(author) Songs and Drolleries, 1890

Post - Top - Home - Printer Friendly - Translate

Subject: RE: Songs/Poems of Joe Wilson
From: *#1 PEASANT*
Date: 14 May 17 - 12:49 PM


TEUN-"Ten Thousand Miles Away."

THE neet wes dark, but the cairt wes there,
An' we'd got a frind te drive,
An' we teuk a bottle 0' whiskey wis,
Te keep us all alive,
Te keep us all alive, me lads,
For the times had been se bad,
We'd got ne rent for the lanlord then,
So a meun-leet flit we had.


Iv a' the scenes aw knaw,
A meun-Ieet flit beats a',
It myeks ye wundor where ye are,
An' where yor gan te be;
That neet aw'll nivor forget,
When we had the meun-leet flit,
For away on the sly,
Withoot sayin gud-bye,
Wes the best thing we cud de.

The wife had gyen an' packt the things
An' oor or two before,
The bed wesat the windowlang
Afore we reach'd the door;
But when we reach'd the door, me lads,
It seun com tumlin doon,
An' the tyeble wiv a broken leg
Wes next hoy'd oot the room.

The three-legg'd steul fell on Bill's heed,
"Haud on there, mate," he roar'd;
"Shut up, ye feu]," says aw, "be still,"
When doon aw went quite floor'd,
When doon aw went quite floor'd, me lad,
Wi' the bed-pawls on me nose;
"Cum show the leet;" says Jack,
"A' reet," Wi' the poker on his toes.

The crock'ry-ware wes handed next,
Says Bill, "Aw's awful dry
"The clock com tumlin on his fyece,
An' nearly blackt his eye,
An' nearly blackt his eye, me lads,
Its awn fyece strikin his,Says Jack,
"Let's gawn, the cairt's chock-full,
We've mair then wor awn wis!"

We pass'd a street or two quite safe,
An' then the horse wad stop;
The bed-powls, an' the draw'rs as weel,
Com rowlin frae the top,
Com rowlin frae the top, me lads,
An' hoo we a' got hyem
Aw divvent knaw, or dorsint think,
But what a spree we'd then.

Source: Joe Wilson,(author) Songs and Drolleries, 1890

Post - Top - Home - Printer Friendly - Translate

Subject: RE: Songs/Poems of Joe Wilson
From: *#1 PEASANT*
Date: 14 May 17 - 02:53 PM


TEUN-"Billy, me bonny Lad."

MARRY the lass, Sep Riley,
Myek her as gud as yor-sel,
An' then she'll be warse then ivor she wes,
It wes just throo ye she fell;
She once wes a decent bit milk-lass,
As decent as any can be,
N00 a' the foaks luck doon upon her,
An' ye knaw it's just throo ye.

Marry the lass, Sep Riley,
If just te give her a nyem,
For ye knew she once had a gud un,
An' disarves te keep the syem;
She's workin as hard as a lass can,
Te keep her-sel ivry day,
The time 'ill seun cum when she cannet,
Marry her noo-when ye may!

Marry the lass, Sep Riley,
Ye often tell'd her ye wad,
Ye knaw that she thinks a vast 0' ye,
Vor the only lad she's had;
If ye dinnet, aw's sure she'll be heart-broke,
She's gettin warse ivry day,
Ye knaw she hes gossipin neybors,
That divvent care what they say,

Marry the lass, Sep Riley,
If ye'd only seen her cry,
When she thowt nebody beside her,
I' the lane that's just hard by;
Aw's sure it wad myed ye relent, lad,
It wad turn a heart 0' styen,
Te hear the poor thing when she'ssobbin,
Sobbin an' sighin alyen!

Marry the lass, Sep Riley,
She'll myek ye a canny bit wife,
Tho aw's sartin she's ower gud for ye,
For ye've been her bane throo life;
Her fethur 'ill set up the hoose, lad,
Her muther 'ill help her, tee,
So marry, an' give her a nyem, lad,
If ye divvent=-poor thing, she'll dee!

Marry the lass, Sep Riley,
Bliss ye! ye say that ye will,
An' ye'll nivvor heh cawse te repent it,
Vor heart's i' the reet place still;
Aw'll tell her it's settled for Sunday,
Poor lass, it 'ill myek her glad,
So let's hey a gill on the heed on't,
An' two eftor that, me lad.

Source: Joe Wilson,(author) Songs and Drolleries, 1890

Post - Top - Home - Printer Friendly - Translate

Subject: RE: Songs/Poems of Joe Wilson
From: *#1 PEASANT*
Date: 14 May 17 - 03:04 PM


TEUN- "Ow Mary."

Aw warn'd ye've heard 0' Rodger?
That's Mistress Thomsin's lodger,
He's teun his hook, an' sloup'd them a',
An', ay, but he's a dodger;
He's got se much i' debt there,
He's caws'd them a' te fret there,
They nivvor thowt he'd be se bad,
For he wes a greet pet there!


" Oh! Mistriss Thomsin,
What will ye de?" says a' the neybors;
"Oh, Mistriss Thomsin,
Yor lodger, Rodger's ron away."

He korted Thomsin's dowter,
Tho mony a lad had sowt her,
She thowt se much 0' Rodger, faith,
That money waddent bowt her;
He wun thor whole affeckshuns,
Wi' boasts 0' high conneckshuns,
An' wheedling wayshe got thor praise,
But noo it's awful vexin.

He's a quarter back i' rent, tee,
Besides sum money lent, tee,
The landlady advanced him owt,
An' away wi' all he went, tee.
What bad, what mean behavour,
Te pay the aud wife's labour
Wi' nowt but base ingratitude,
Besides he jew'd the neybors!

Source: Joe Wilson,(author) Songs and Drolleries, 1890

Post - Top - Home - Printer Friendly - Translate

Subject: RE: Songs/Poems of Joe Wilson
From: *#1 PEASANT*
Date: 14 May 17 - 08:48 PM


TEUN-"TheLain! 0' Cockpen."

THE tyeble luckt canny, an' cosey, an' full,
An' aw sat wi' the bairn on wor aud three-leg'd steul,
An' its muther luckt really as happy as me,
For that day we'd invited sum frinds te thor tea.

Thor wes Dick an' Nan Temple, two frinds that we'd knawn
As a canny young lass an' a canny young man,
They had faithfully promised that Sunday at three,
Wi' two or three mair frinds, te cum an' tyek tea.

So wor Mally myed up, on the Seturday neet,
Bowt spice loaf an' fancy kyecks, ivrything sweet,
An' wi jillies an' marmilades really myed free,
Fairly meant te luck decent when frinds com te tea.

So on Sunday, when dinner wes ower that day,
Like a gud handy hoosewife she clear'd things away,
An' wor new tyeble-cloth, just as white as cud be,
Had a real grand invitin appearance for tea.

The cups wes a' set, an' the wigs nice an' het
Wes butter'd, then cut upse neat be me pet,
An' the bairn, wiv a lump iv its hand, full 0' glee,
Seem'd te knaw thor wes sumbody cummin te tea.

The clock had gyen two, an' then three, an' half-past,
We porswayded wor-sels it wes ivor se fast,
For we all had gud payshuns till fower let's see,
If they diddent cum seun we wad heh wor awn tea!

When five o'clock struck, man, aw hardly cud speak,
An' me wife, wi' the blud rushin a' tiv her cheek,
Smash'd two cups, oot 0' humour wivher awnsel an' me,
We sat doon without ivor a word te wor tea.

Iv a' disappointments-aw pity the fate
0' them doom'd for promises broken te wait,
When they once did te me, whey aw firmly declare,
That aw'll nivor invite them te tea ony mair!

Aw wad like te shake hands wi' the man that can
please iverybody. He mun be one d them phinomenons
that ne generation 'ill iver leeve te see.

-Source: Joe Wilson,(author) Songs and Drolleries, 1890

Post - Top - Home - Printer Friendly - Translate

Subject: RE: Songs/Poems of Joe Wilson
From: *#1 PEASANT*
Date: 14 May 17 - 08:56 PM


TEUN-"Erin, my Country."

BOB REPTON wes reckond a gud-hearted fellow,
As gud an' kind-hearted as ony can be,
For spending his muney he waddent be thwarted,
But treat onybody-when oot on the spree,
At hyem, what a diff'rence, se mean an' se stingey,
He'd hammer the wife,an' the poor bairneys, tee;
An' wi' moans he wad fill a' the hoose, aud an' dingey,
An' myek't just as miserable as it cud be.

Bob Hepton wes reckond a gud-hearted fellow,
Whereivor he show'd his fyece, jolly ye'd say;
He wes pick 0' the sports, an' at dancin or singin,
Wes pride 0' the kumpney, an' king 0' the gay;
The syem time his unhappy wife at hyem starvin,
Wes tryin wi' toilin te aim a bit breed,
An' the bairns wi' thor cries myed the poor body narvis,
Se narvis, she nearly wes oot ov her heed.

Bob Hepton wes reckond a gud-hearted fellow,
Wi' fine tung for wimmin, an' jokes for the men,
An' ne thowts 0' the hyem he had-heartless, disarted
He wad treat them agyen, an' agyen, an' agyen;
The syem time at hyem his poor little son Charley,
Wiv a feverish sickness wes wastin away,
Wi' nqwt else, but only sum wetter an' barley,
Te wet his dry lips a' the neet an' the day.

Bob Hepton wes reckond a gud-hearted fellow,
He knew hoo te humour the foaks that he met;
"A real dashin chep l" they wad whisper amang them,
An' myek him thor plissure, thor pride, an' thor pet;
But at hyem, like ademon, diffishunt 0' feelin,
He'd gloat on the mis'ry successfully myed,
An' false te that hyem-like an imp ova' evil,
A doubbil-fyeced, cruel, heartless life Hepton led.

-Source: Joe Wilson,(author) Songs and Drolleries, 1890

Post - Top - Home - Printer Friendly - Translate

Subject: RE: Songs/Poems of Joe Wilson
From: *#1 PEASANT*
Date: 14 May 17 - 11:13 PM


THERE'S a time in life when sadness,
Like a shadow disappears,
And our hearts rebound with gladness,
As we welcome coming years;
And the years that's gone before us,
Like a fleeting, happy dream,
Bring back sweet recollections
Of a life that's pass'd serene.
And on each successive birthday,
How we gladly gather round,
And give welcome to that circle
Where true friendship we have found;
And we bless each trusted comrade
With an honest open heart,
The days so bright we prophesied,
Re-echo'd in each heart.

In the earliest prime of manhood,
There's a dear delightful page
In life's history,-one-and-twenty
Is the flower of an age,
And an age when manly feelings
At the festive board abounds,
And the cheering, treasured faces
Of the friends we love, surround
The glad scenes on such occasions;
And on this occasion, I
Give the hand of "auld acquaintance,"
And in this, my best reply,
To the wishes kindly given,
And the health you drink to me,
May you know life's great enjoyment,
And each day as happy be,
As your best of friends could wish you;
And when many years are gone,
May we find that charm in birthdays,
As we do,-when twenty-one!

-Source: Joe Wilson,(author) Songs and Drolleries, 1890

Post - Top - Home - Printer Friendly - Translate

Subject: RE: Songs/Poems of Joe Wilson
From: *#1 PEASANT*
Date: 14 May 17 - 11:32 PM



"LET's hey a row, but dinnet sulk,
We'd better fight it oat,"
Says Charley Batey tiv his wife,
One day when put aboot;
"Aw'd seuner hey a row just noo,
Then hear ye sigh a' day,
Ye'l! myek us that aw'll leave the hoose,
De ye knaw that it's the pay? "

Let's hey a row, but dinnet sulk,
We hardly spoke last week;
De ye think that aw can leeve wi' ye,
If ye refuse to speak?
What gud can't de yor sulkin se?
We'd better settled noo,
Ye'll myek us de sumthing that's rang,
An' then find time te rue!

"Let's hev a row; but dinnet sulk,
Ye say aw spent the brass
Aw myed last week for owertime,
That vexes ye, me lass;
An' if aw·did-it's reet aw shud,
Ye knaw aw wanted claes,
Aw diddent thraw'd away on drink,
Or any such like ways.

"Let's hey a row, but dinnet sulk,
That froon wes nivvor seen
Upon yor broo, when lad an' lass,
We byeth had turn'd iteteen;
Ye'll not speak yit,-ye'll myek us flee
Te drink, or sumthing bad,
Are ye gan daft ?-ye winnet speak,
Or is't me that's gawn mad?

"Aw've bowt sum claes, maw canny wife,
An' still yor iv a rage;
Aw'd better tyek me owertime,
Then meddle wi' me wage,
An' still ye sit an' groan as tho
Aw'd teun yor best heart's blud,
But Time wi' ye's myed weary wark
Yor temper's not se gud!

"Let's hey a row, but dinner sulk,
Aw'd like te hear a word
Frae them reed lips, that once aw thowt
Wad nivvor breed discord;
Aw'd rethur hear ye call us owt,
An' vex us till aw's sair,
Then see yor aggravatin fyece,
Sit sulkin i' that chair!

"Yor smilin noo, that bonny broo
Lucks brighter then it was,
Cum te me airms, maw cumley pet,
An' let's heh ne mair cause
Te myek us use reproachful words,
Let's lead a happy life,
An' nivvor let yor husbind think
He's got a sulky wife!"

-Source: Joe Wilson,(author) Songs and Drolleries, 1890

Post - Top - Home - Printer Friendly - Translate

Subject: RE: Songs/Poems of Joe Wilson
From: *#1 PEASANT*
Date: 15 May 17 - 04:11 PM


TEUN-"Erin go Bragh."

"Oh, Jack, what's the metter? ye luck se doon-hearted,
Whativor's yor trubbil? aw hope ye'll tell me,
Ye luck se dejected, what is't lad? cum tell us,
It pains us te see a yung chep sad as ye."
"Whey, Joe, man, aw'm nearly heart-broken, believe us,
Aw can find ne injoyment i' me pipe or me glass,
Me luv for me Mary's byeth strange an' unsartin,
Aw heh ne peace 0' mind throo that Factory Lass!

"She works i' the fact'ry amang lots 0' lasses,
But nyen 0' the beauties that's there can compare
Wi' the lass that aw's efter,-she's smart an' she's bonny,
Wi' blue eyes, a Wellinton nose, an' reed hair;
Her mooth wad tempt ony te wish they dor kiss them,
Her lucks a' tegither a Queen wad surpass,
But, oh man, aw's frighten'd she cares nowt aboot us,
Ay, an' me deep i' luv wi' that Factory Lass!

"Aw left her one mornin te join the Militia,
An' sairly she cried an' aw hoped 'twes for me,
But noo man, aw doot it, -aw'm not often jealous,
But really aw've seen what aw'd rether not see.
She wesleet-myed an' canny the mornin aw left her,
But noo she's se stoot, that the neybors a' pass
Remarks--when aw hear them aw shudder an' fear that
She's been false te me hes that Factory Lass!

"Aw sumtimes imadjin aw shud marry sweet Mary,
But if aw propose man, aw've ne courage wid,
For aw've thowt te me-sel that thor might be sumbody,
Had mair reet te her, ay, an' mair reet te did.
So aw feel se unhappy, the whole toon aw wander,
But whativor shud happen, whativor shud pass,
Aw promise te tell ye the next time aw meet ye,
Aw'm as daft as a feul throo that Factory Lass!"

-Source: Joe Wilson,(author) Songs and Drolleries, 1890

Post - Top - Home - Printer Friendly - Translate

Subject: RE: Songs/Poems of Joe Wilson
From: *#1 PEASANT*
Date: 15 May 17 - 04:36 PM


TEUN-"Kiss i' the Ring."

TE kort me lass aw oftin try,
But mischief shines iv her bonny blue eye,
She'll cock up her nose as aw pass by,
An' she's always pickin her fun oot 0' me,
Says she, "Can aw help't, when ye plague us se?"
"Sartinly," says aw; says she,
"Ye nivor say owt aboot luv te me!"
Says she; says aw, "Aw de!" Says she,
"Haud yor tung, divvent bother us sel"
Says aw, "Whey what can a poor fellow de?
N00 whe will ye hev, if ye winnet heh me?"
Says she, "Haud yor tung, divvent bother us se!"

Says aw, "Aw like ye as wee !as man can,
Roond the world frae Newcassell for ye aw wad gan,
If aw divvent speak fine its as fine as aw can,
An' what else te please ye can ivor aw de?"
Says she, "Ye knaw weel that aw gan wi' Jack Broon,"
"Sartinly," says aw; says she,
"He's the canniest, bonniest lad i' the toon, "
"Is he tho?" says aw, "not he!" Says she,
"Haud yor tung, divvent bother us set Il Says aw,
"De ye think that ye'll frighten me?
Ye knaw that Jack Broon gans wi' Mary McCree,"
Says she, "Haud yor tung, divvent bother us se I"

Says she, "Did aw not see ye the day,
Stoppin an' tawkin te fat Jinny Grey?"
Says aw, "For a frind mun aw gan oot the way,
She wes axin the time, aw wes luckin te see!"
Says she, "Wassent Jinny a sweetheart 0' yors?"
"Sartinly," says aw; says she,
"Ye'll gan wi' byeth new an' aud sweethearts of courseI"
Says she; says aw, "Not me! " Says she,
"Haud yor tung, divvent bother us sel"
Says aw, "It's strange we se seldum agree,
Yor always findin sum faIt wi' me!"
Says she, "Haud yor tung, divvent bother us sel"

Says aw, "For a minnit just lissen te sense,
Aw'll set up a hoose, an' aw'll spare ne expense,
But aw'll want a wife, the set up te mense,
An' awthink that aw cuddent heh better than yel"
Says she, "It's yor turn te pick fun oat 0' me,"
"Sartinly," says aw; says she,
"But if yor in arnist, aw think we'll agree!"
"That's reet," says aw; says she,
"Ye'll promise ne mair te plague us sel"
Says aw, "Yor as daft as a body can be,
Aw'll plague ye far maid" says aw; says she,
"Huts, lad, haud yor tung, divvent bother us se!"

If ye dream ye've seen a ghost, ye may safely calkilate on the
contrary. Thor niver wes ony ghosts, or iver will be, te foaks i'
thor sober senses. So ye may gan te sleep agyen withoot ony fear,
and snore withoot contradicshun. Thor's nebody sees owt 0' the
kind but madmen an' heavy drinkers. If ye want te see one, tyek
a fit 0' Dileerium Trimmins: it's the best recipe aw can gie ye; an'
ye can send thirteen stamps if it toms oot successful. Gratitude's

-Source: Joe Wilson, (author) Songs and Drolleries, 1890

Post - Top - Home - Printer Friendly - Translate

Subject: RE: Songs/Poems of Joe Wilson
From: *#1 PEASANT*
Date: 15 May 17 - 05:06 PM


TEUN- "Barbary Bell," or the "Wunderful Tallegraff."

AW'LL sing ye a bit sang if ye'll join i' the korus,
Ye'll give us a gud un,-aw's sartin ye will,
For it's all i' the praise i' the Coally Tyne heroes,
The Charnpeins we've had, an' the Champeins we've still;
Tho aw's sad when awthink 0' brave honest Bob Chambers,
Aw's glad the example he set's been weel tyen,
For wor bonny boat-pullers, the best ova' scullers,
Thor lickt for thor equal,-becas they heh nyen.

N00 it's mony a lang eer since game aud Harry Clasper
Astonish'd the Cocknies, an' myed them fight shy,
The Tyneside boat-rowers, se prood 0' thor river,
Kept up the successes for eers its gyen by;
Then Chambers, the Champein ov a' the world's pullers,
Goh the Cocknies a gliff that they'll nivor forget,
Whey, Kelley for six eers dor hardly gan near him,
TiII he knew Bob wes deun,-then he challinsed wor pet!

But lads, thor's stiII gud uns withoot gan te Lundin,
An' where will ye find them but just on the Tyne?
Did ye ivor hear owt like the greet Thames Regatta?
Where the canny Tynesiders se bonny did shine;
Aw wad like te been there te seen a' the lang fyeces,
The Cocknies wad pull when they fund they war deun,
For they nivor imadjind the whole 0' the prizes,
For Champeins, wad cum te wor river as seun.

Thor wes game Jimmy Taylor, Mat Scott, Andrew Thompson,
Wi' the second Bob Chambers te pull the stroke oar,
Com in for the Hundrid withoot ony trubbiI,
Twes easier then ivor its been wun afore;
Then the race for the Pairs, tho twes reckund a grand un,
Just show'd 0' what hard stuff a Tynesider's myed,
For Taylor an' Scott fairly bothered a' Lundin,"
Gox! wor gan te get nowt this time!" Kelley then said.

But the Champeinship race is wor pride an' wor glory,
When brave Jimmy Renforth, se honest an' true,
Led the way before gud men like Sadler an' Percy,
An' the foaks that wes there really sweer that he flew!
He's Champein ov Ingland,-then wish him success, lads,
May he, like poor Bob Chambers, stick weel te the nyem ;
Then gud luck te the Fowers, the Pairs, an' the Champein,
Besides a' the canny boat-pullers at hyem!

-Source: Joe Wilson, (author) Songs and Drolleries, 1890

Post - Top - Home - Printer Friendly - Translate

Subject: RE: Songs/Poems of Joe Wilson
From: *#1 PEASANT*
Date: 15 May 17 - 05:16 PM


TEUN- "Luv amangthe Roses."

IT might heh been i' Yepril,
Or it might heh been i' May,
When forst aw wes se lucky
As te meet wi' Martha Grey,
She stood behint the koonter,
Byeth reed an' fat wes she;
The hams an' bacon roond her
Had ne such charms te me.
Aw got a half-a-noonce 0' twist,
An' aw wish'd that aw cud steal her,
At forst seet there me heart aw miss'd,
Throo that stoot Pervishun Dealer!


They call her Grey,-her measure's just,
She keeps a shop, but gies ne trust;
Since then aw've oftin tried her,
An' aw's ne poor appealer,
But wi' Martha Grey aw hope sum day,
Te be Co-Pervishun Dealer!

Aw axed her for a leeter,
Or aw said a match wad de,
Then frev a box beside her,
She handed two or three;
Aw luckt doon at the matches,
An' then aw luckt at her,
I' hopes her eye wad catch us,
But she stared at the dor.
She teuk ne notis when aw spoke,
What aw meant for a feeler,
A match aw thowt wad end i' smoke,
Wi' that stoot Pervishun Dealer.

Since then aw've gyen there oftin,
Te kort fat Martha Grey,
An' hard aw've tried te soften
Her heart an' myekt give way,
Aw believe that aw've a chance yit,
For sumtimes Martha's eye
Wi' luv 'ill myek advances,
So then aw'll gamely try,
Te captivate byeth wife an' shop,
At Mary's feet aw'll kneel, or
The co-operative questin pop
Te that stoat Pervishun Dealer!

-Source: Joe Wilson, (author) Songs and Drolleries, 1890

Post - Top - Home - Printer Friendly - Translate

Subject: RE: Songs/Poems of Joe Wilson
From: *#1 PEASANT*
Date: 15 May 17 - 05:29 PM


TEUN-"Martha, the Milkman's Dowler."

BILL SNOOK'S married a darkey wife,
Aw divvent knaw where he fund her,
But ower the sea she's cum wi' him,
An' filled us a' wi wunder,
Such eyes an' cheeks, such nose an' mooth,
Aw nivvor clapt me eyes on,
But fancy's ivrything they say,
For all it's se surprisin.


Frae the heed te the fut,
She's as black as any sur,
Thor may be fair an' finer,
But for a Blackeymoor, aw's sure
Thor's nyen like Snooks's Dinah!

She's a Nigger,-ne half-bred Quadroon,
Thor's ne disputin her breed.
Ne Mullatto or ne Octoroon
Can show a heed like hor heed,
It's a curley, wooley, toosey pow,
Ne turmit aw've seen bigger,
Frae the shoolders te the waist square-built,
She's a heavy-wite black Nigger!

Bill says when they got married he
Wes heavy on the spree then,
The job wes deun-he cuddent help't,
So what wes he te de then?
He got te bed-but oh, next morn,
He thowt the imp 0' evil
Had been his pairtner i the neet,
His bed-mate wes the deevil!

"Oh marcy, divvent tyek us yit!
Aw's not prepared te leave here,"
Bill cried, an' wrung his hands i' grief.
Says she, "Ye needn't grieve here,
For awls yor lawful wedded wife,
Yor choice ov luv an' passhun!
"Me wife!" cries Bill, "yor Bellsebub!
Lord help us, yor a cawshun !"

But efter that, he got used wid,
An' Dinah liked her gud-man,
They really got te 'gree forst-rate,
As married cupples shud, man,
An' when Bill cums hyem frae the pit,
She likes te see him black, as
She thinks he's then mair like her-sel,
Till he says, "Cum wesh me back, lass l"

But lately Dinah's been confined,
Wi' such a little geezer,
A little fellow,-black an' tan,
Drest up i' white te please her,
Billlafft te see them byeth i' bed,
Luckt at one an' then the tuther,
An' wundorin whe on orth it's like,
He kiss'd it for its muther!

-Source: Joe Wilson, (author) Songs and Drolleries, 1890

Post - Top - Home - Printer Friendly - Translate

Subject: RE: Songs/Poems of Joe Wilson
From: *#1 PEASANT*
Date: 15 May 17 - 05:37 PM


R ICH and sweet in harmony,-and jovial as a friend,
O bliging to his customers, one that we'd have attend;
B enevolent to those in need, true as the truest steel,
E nriching the good name he has, one that can make us feel
R espect, and he for ever gains the great respect of all,
T hat love at the "Lord Nelson," in Trafalgar Street to call.

S urrounded by the Talent, and there is a real high class,
T hat gather round their good old friend to have a pipe and glass,
E nchanting all with music in a choice and varied strain,
P rofessionals as jolly, that achieve, and can obtain
H igh test'mony from critics, of abilities their own,
E qualled only by good humour they've already shown;
N umerous are the patrons who oft show how they regard
S tephenson, their favourite, whom they've so often heard
O n the violin, attracted, when the sweetest of all sound,
N ourishes the ear that's charmed when friends are friends all round.

-Source: Joe Wilson, (author) Songs and Drolleries, 1890

Post - Top - Home - Printer Friendly - Translate

Subject: RE: Songs/Poems of Joe Wilson
From: *#1 PEASANT*
Date: 15 May 17 - 07:49 PM


TEUN-"Cappy's the Dog."

MYEK peace I-can ye find any gud iv a row?
Wiv a smack on the nose or a crack on the pow,
Wi' yor skull nearly dayver'd, yor eyes a' but blind,
What gud i' such mischief can anyone find?


So aw hope ye'll make peace,
An' yor plissures increase,
Wiv a gud hearty sosheeble
Happy-like peace.

Nivvor eg a man on wiv anuther te fight,
Or get him te hammer sum chep for yor spite,
That's a thing aw knaw often greet cooerds 'ill de,
Myek peace!-ay, an' try te myek a' men agree.

Myek peace I-an' the pollis ye nivvor need fear,
Ye can say te yor-sel that he's not wanted here!
Man an' wife shuddent put one anuther aboot,
An' canny young sweethearts shud nivvor fall oot.

Aw cud nivvor see owt iv a row in the hoose,
But led tiv hard words an' a' kinds ov abuse,
Exposin' affairs te yor neybors se true,
That the forst time ye hear them repeated ye rue.

l' yor unruly moments just think ov me sang,
It 'ill hinder ye surely for dein mair rang,
An' yor sartin te find a' yor plissures increase,
If ye just myek't yor study to heh nowt but peace.

So aw hope ye'll myek peace,
An' yor plissures increase,
Wiv a gud hearty sosheeble
Happy-like peace!

-Source: Joe Wilson, (author) Songs and Drolleries, 1890

Post - Top - Home - Printer Friendly - Translate

Subject: RE: Songs/Poems of Joe Wilson
From: *#1 PEASANT*
Date: 15 May 17 - 08:00 PM


TEUN- "Homeward Bound."

OH, where-oh, where is wor Geordey gyen?
He'll not gan te wark, or he'll not stop at hyem;
Aw've seen little on him since New Eer's day,
If he'll not gan te wark, he'll get ne pay.


Oh! where is Geordey gyen-oh, where?
Oh! where is Geordey gyen?

'Twes the Nine Oors Movement did the trick,
For it suits wor lad ony time te stick:
If Geordey had his awn way, aw knaw,
He wad gan on strike for ne wark at a'!

When the Strike wes on, he wes better off then
Then he wes before, or he'll be agyen,
For he got his beer, an' injoyed his smoke:
When the Strike wes settled, his heart wes broke!

At last, rethur then work-wi' passhun het
He knock'd doon the forst Belgein he met;
An', man, hoo sorry aw was for the lad,
When they sent him for six weeks te quad.

It's true he wes often i' jail before,
But his mates gov him welcum oot wiv a roar;
It's true what aw say, an' de what aw like,
He'll nivvor be reet till thor's anuther Strike!

-Source: Joe Wilson, (author) Songs and Drolleries, 1890

Post - Top - Home - Printer Friendly - Translate

Subject: RE: Songs/Poems of Joe Wilson
From: *#1 PEASANT*
Date: 15 May 17 - 08:44 PM


TEUN-"Postman's Knock."

HERE'S wor Peggy's Album, but what it contains
Aw's sartin wad pussle ye a',
But what's i' the beuk withoot hevin a luck,
Aw'll try te let all on ye knaw.
The first it's a chep that aw knaw nowt aboot,
That she bowt for a penny one day,
Then here's Dolly Scott that 'ill tawk for a munth,
If ye'll lissen tiv owt that she'll say!


It's a stunner, me lads, an' ye'll say that aw's reet,
For if Peggy's a cawshun, her Album's a treat.

The third it's a chep wiv a beer-blossim'd fyece,
But hoo he gets drunk pussles me,
He's nivvor at wark-but i' dayleet or dark
He's always the forst iv a spree;
Then here's Harry Palmer, that leeves doon war yard,
He plays on the kornet at neets,
An' ye'll see him sumtimes, iv his rifleman's claes,
Wi' the band, promenadin the streets.

Then here's Nanny Hunter that keeps a bit shop,
An' sells bullets an' claggum for bairns,
She's a canny aud wife, an' aw hope she'll de weel;
The next's an aud maid they call Cairns,
She's off wi' the Mormons, because she lost heart
0' gettin a gud man at hyem;
An' the next it's a lass that aw fancy me-sel,
So aw think aw'll not men shun her nyem.

Then here's Charley Ridley that stands i' the bar,
For the lanlord that keeps the" Black Rat,"
An' lang Mally Todd wiv her mooth gyepin wide,
An' her eyes like aw divvent knaw what;
The last it's wor Geordey, as grave as a priest,
Wiv a greet big bull-dog on his knee;
He's the last i' the beuk, an' aw wish Peggy luck,
May she seun hed as full as can be.

-Source: Joe Wilson, (author) Songs and Drolleries, 1890

Post - Top - Home - Printer Friendly - Translate

Subject: RE: Songs/Poems of Joe Wilson
From: *#1 PEASANT*
Date: 15 May 17 - 08:57 PM


TEUN-"The Yallow Girl that -wink'd at me."

MAN, aw'm nearly gawn oot d me heed,
For aw lodge wi' such queer lodgers,
They kick up such a clatter,
That aw wundor what's the matter,
An' aw think them a real queer breed;
Thor perfesshunal cheps, they say,
A lot 0' Music Hall performers.
They may be varry cliver,
But aw'd like te knaw whativer
Myeks them carryon iv such a way.


An' oh, my! aw often try
Te get a bit rest, but when thor nigh
Aw'm sure aw nivvor will,
For they kick up such a clatter,
That aw wunder what's the matter,
For they cannet or they winnet keep still!

I' the mornin the fiddler starts
Te give us a dose ov his scrapin;
Then the sentimentil singer
Just aboot the time for dinner
Myeks us a' fit te brick wor hearts;
Then the comic one's turn begins,
An' he nearly the whole street raises,
What wi' him an' wi' the niggor,
They byeth cut a bonny figgor,
An' the dog-dancer joins i' the din.

Then the chep that plays on the flute
Calls in te see the fiddler;
They play some grand duet
That aw nivvor can forget,
For they byeth leave the teun clean oot;
Then a lass tyeks her turn te squall,
An' screams as if for murder;
It maybe varry bonny,
Or it may be varry funny,
But aw think it's best at the Hall.

Then the lanlady runs upstairs,
An' kicks up a row wi' the sarvint;
Thor always in het wetter,
Pitter, patter, clitter, clatter,
That aw cannet mind me awn affairs;
But that's not the warst ova',
For at neets thor's ne rest for us
Frae twelve te three o'clock,
Why, it's knock, an' knock, an' knock,
Thor the queerest foaks aw knaw.

-Source: Joe Wilson, (author) Songs and Drolleries, 1890

Post - Top - Home - Printer Friendly - Translate

Subject: RE: Songs/Poems of Joe Wilson
From: *#1 PEASANT*
Date: 15 May 17 - 09:15 PM


AIR-" Black·EJled Susan."

NEAR the Manors Stayshun, one Monday morn,
A young lass stud an' wiped her eyes,
Wi' sobs an' sighs, an' a fyece forlorn,
Her story tell'd, wi' moans an' cries,"
Oh, Charley, Charley, where is Charley noo?
l' the Manors Stayshun, wiv a blaggeyord crew!

"What for becawse did ye gan an' fight,
An' brick poor Micky Murphy's nose?
Hoo was't i' three cairds ye teuk delight,
Te swindle a' that wad stand the dose?
Oh, Charley, Charley, where is Charley noo?
l' the Manors Stayshun, under Captain Blue!

"What for becawse did ye steal the watch,
An' steal poor Tommy Dobson's shart?
Hoo was't the Peelers me luv shud catch,
Te turn me heed an' ring me heart?
Oh, Charley, Charley, where is Charley noo?
It's six munse certain, when his case is throo!

"Ye knaw the bairn that aw hey's yor awn,
Ye knaw that aw've been true te ye,
Tho ye nivvor meant te be me man,
Whe'll keep yor bairn, ay, an' whe'll keep me?
Oh, Charley, Charley, where is Charley noo ?
Till the next Assizes, wiv a blaggeyord crew!"

-Source: Joe Wilson, (author) Songs and Drolleries, 1890

Post - Top - Home - Printer Friendly - Translate

Subject: RE: Songs/Poems of Joe Wilson
From: *#1 PEASANT*
Date: 15 May 17 - 09:25 PM


TEUN- "Nice Young Man."

"OH, hinny, what myeks ye luck se glad?
A blithesome fyece heh ye;"
"Me sweetheart's oot ov his time the day,
Aw's like te happy be;
Aw've been up tiv his muther's hoose,
He kiss'd us, bliss his heart,
An' tell'd us that on Munday next
As journeyman he'll start."


TEUN-" Rasor-Grinder's Daughter."

"For in me heart aw haud him dear,
Aw only wish that he wes here,
Maw brave, maw bonny Injineer,
That's served his time at Hawthorn's.

"His shopmates say he's just the sort
Te fettle weel at owt,
He's a clivor chep an' a handy chep,
An' nivvor aflaid 0' nowt;
The neet thor gawn te hey a spree,
Thor hevin one the day,
But what's the odds? thor jolly lads,
An' last neet wes the pay!

"But still aw wish the spree wes ower,
For then he'll tawk te me,
An' shortly, seun, aw hey ne doot,
His journeywife aw'll be.
His journeywife wi' him throo life,
Aw wish that we war wed,
For then aw's pairtner ov his hoose,
An' pairtner ov his bed!"

"Me darlin's oot ov his time the day,
What news, aw say, for me,
Aw think his muther might need sum help
Te myek them a' thor tea,
An' help her wi' the hoose turns like,
An' gan oot for the beer,
Aw think aw'll gan, it's me place te be
Beside me Injineer!"

-Source: Joe Wilson, (author) Songs and Drolleries, 1890

Post - Top - Home - Printer Friendly - Translate

Subject: RE: Songs/Poems of Joe Wilson
From: *#1 PEASANT*
Date: 16 May 17 - 01:42 PM


TEUN-" Nowt te de."

"ON strike!" aw hear them awful words
Repeated i' the street,
"On strike! ne warkt" aw hear agyen,
Frae hundreds that aw meet;
"Three lang munths gyen,-not sattled yit!
Wor hard-up as can be,
It cannet last, thor'll be a change,
We'll seun heh wark te de!"


Walkin roond the Market,
An' walkin doon the Kee,
The only cheerin words aw hear's
"We'll seun heh wark te de!"

Aw see the poor cheps oot on strike
Gan slowly throo the street,
Tho anxshus for the latest news,
Frev iv'ry one they meet,
They keep up one anuther's hearts,
As honest men shud be,
Wi' hopes the day's not distant when
They'll all heh wark te de !

"Mair forrinersl" aw hear them say,
Then one 'ill shake his heed
"They may get plenty men as cheap,
But is't them that they need?
No, no! it's real mechanicks that
A maister likes te see,
Nine oors te him's a better thing,
Gud men his wark te de!

"At hyem thor's nowt but misery,
Where happy days we've seen.
When plenty wark an' plenty keep
Myed a' things luck soreen,
We'll heh them gud things back agyen,
Seun settled we shall be,
Then forrin culls may tyek thor hook
Frae wark they cannet de!"

We'll seun heh wark te de, me lads!
God bliss us a' we will,
Tyneside 'ill yit victorious shine,
Wi' men 0' worth an' skill,
An' happier days 'ill myek the past
A dream 0' what we see,
Men gud an' true 'ill nivor rue,
We'll seun heh wark te de!"

-Source: Joe Wilson, (author) Songs and Drolleries, 1890

Post - Top - Home - Printer Friendly - Translate

Subject: RE: Songs/Poems of Joe Wilson
From: *#1 PEASANT*
Date: 16 May 17 - 01:52 PM


TEUN- "Billy, me bonny Lad."

Aw warn'd ye've heard 0' wor Johnny,
An eccentric lad is he,
He's sarvin his time as a cobbler
But a snob he'll nivor be;
Tho wi' beuts an' shoes he's suroonded,
For the lot he little cares,
For day-dreams myek him ambishus
Te be Champein 0' Cassel Garth Stairs.

Sum days he thinks he's a booler,
Sweers he can lick Geordy Laws
Or Saint, an' shut Harry Wardle
At ony immoont 0' craws;
He thinks he can beat Stephen Ridley,
An' myek Pete Hewitt say pray'rs,
Tho he nivor says ony his-sel,
He's the Champein 0' Cassel Garth Stairs.

He's such a fellow for chaffin,
He can tawk Jack Spencer dumb,
An' he says that Addy or Bagnall
He cud lick them byeth like fun,
An' one day, whey, he tell'd Mooney
He lairnt Burnett an' Pletts thor affairs,
An' he reckons the strike wes wun
Be the Champein 0' Cassel Garth Stairs.

Johnny says he can beat Bill Walker,
Or Tom Pape ony time he'll swim,
An' Lally at rowin or dancin
Wad heh ne chance wi' him;
He'll play Robie at quoits for a hundrid,
And Jamieson russel for fairs,
If he's as big as Roger Tichborne
He'll thraw him doon Cassel Garth Stairs.

-Source: Joe Wilson, (author) Songs and Drolleries, 1890

Post - Top - Home - Printer Friendly - Translate

Subject: RE: Songs/Poems of Joe Wilson
From: *#1 PEASANT*
Date: 16 May 17 - 02:01 PM


"Y E cruel Atlantic Cable,
What's myed ye bring such fearful news?
When Tyneside's hardly yeble
Such sudden grief te bide.
Hoo me heart its beats-iv'rybody greets,
As the whisper runs throo dowley streets,
'We've lost poor Jimmy Renforth,
The Champein 0' Tyneside !"

HOD sad, hoo unexpected,
What diff'rent news we thowt te hear,
Till dismay'd an' affected,
Heart-broken mourners cried, "
Jimmy Renforth's gyen, wor greet Champein's gyen,
Iva country strange,-away frae hyem,
We've lost poor Jimmy Renforth,
The Champein 0' Tyneside !"

"Oh, Jim, what myed ye leave us?
What myed ye leave the canny toon?
A journey myed to grieve us,
Ye've gyen wi' the last tide,
An' the oar that fell, the last oar that fell
Frae yor helpless hand, just seem'd te tell
That Deeth wes the greet victor
l' races far an' wide!

"Life lost withoot a warnin,
An' stopt yor short but grand koreer,
Then left us stricken, mournin,
Deprived 0' wor greet pride;
Hoo me heart it beats,-iv'rybody greets,
As the whisper runs throo dowley streets,
'We've lost poor Jimmy Renforth,
The Champein 0' Tyneside!'"

-Source: Joe Wilson, (author) Songs and Drolleries, 1890

Post - Top - Home - Printer Friendly - Translate

Subject: RE: Songs/Poems of Joe Wilson
From: *#1 PEASANT*
Date: 16 May 17 - 03:08 PM


"A few days ago, Messrs. James Hall and Robert Cooper discovered
at low water a large canoe deeply embedded in the sand of the river Tyne.
After considerable trouble this relic of the past was raised and taken on shore,
when it was discovered that the canoe was one solid piece of oak, which had
evidently been burnt out in the centre, and then finished off with pieces of
flint. It was placed by Mr. Hall in the Elswick Boathouse, where it now remains.
Several antiquarians have inspected the unshapely boat recently brought to
light, and although great difference of opinion exists as to the date in which it
had been in use, the majority are inclined to believe that its age must be
something over one thousand years.-"Newcastle Chronicle, April 9th,1870."


"The Pawnshop Bleezin."

THE morn wes fair, the tide wes law,
The sun shone bright as iver,
When Jimmy Hall, te try a boat,
Pull'd slawlydoon the river;
Doon tiv he's oars he camly lies,
When sumthing fasinates he's eyes,
An' myeks him fairlyhaud his hand,
An objeck stickin throo the sand!
Te find oot what it is he lands,
An' plodges te the varry sands
'Wherehe's cawse 0' wundor's barried !

A lump 0' blaek an' dorty wood,
Wes a' that met he's view, man,
Thinks he, "It's like a seuller's starn,
Aw'll gan an' tell a few, man;
We'll seun hed up, an' then we'll see
What at this moment bothers me!"
Bob Cooper wes the forst he met,
An' wi' sum uther eheps, they set
Te hawl an' howk wi' might an' main.
An' lang they tried, an' lang in vain,
Till at last they quite succeeded. "

It's like a boat!" says Bob,"
it is, An' still it's like a tree, man,
We'll heh the sand oot forst, an' then
We'll heh mair chance te se, man!
They clear'd it oat, an' greet surprise
Fill'd a' thor 'stonished, wund'rin eyes,
For a' the boats they'd iver seen
Wes nowt like this or iver been,
For there the lang trunk ov an oak,
Quite worn wi' age, an' little broke,
Wes fashun'd like a boat, man!

"Ne planks or nails wes iver used
Te this," says Jim, "aw's sartin,
It's hollow'd oot frae stem te starn,
An' if it's not a smart un,
It's curious!" " Aye," says Bob, "it is.
Let's tyek't up te yor boat-boose wis,
An' sum larn'd chep we'll mevvies meet,
That's sure te put war noshuns reet!"
War Geordey wes the forst they saw,
An' seun he let them trooly knaw
The greet wundors ov its hist'ry,

Says he, "When boats like this wes used,
They myed them oot 0' trees, man,
They'd burn the body oot the trunk,
An' pare the sides like cheese, man,
An' keep them safe wi' plenty wet,
The fire only myed them swet,
But still it burnt away inside,
Till hollow'd oot,-a boat supplied,
When polish'd offwi' flint, man!

"The boat ye see's an aud kinnoo,
When Seize-her forst teuk Brittin,
Aw heh ne doot him or his chums
The syem wad often sit in;
In fact, aw've heerd a Roman lord
Once teuk se mony foaks on board,
Beside Reedheuff they com a-grund,
The foaks wes saved-the boatwes droon'd!
Aw heh ne doubt but that's just it,
An' if ye'll ony wait a bit,
Ye can sell'd tiv Anty Queer-uns !"

-Source: Joe Wilson, (author) Songs and Drolleries, 1890

Post - Top - Home - Printer Friendly - Translate

Subject: RE: Songs/Poems of Joe Wilson
From: *#1 PEASANT*
Date: 16 May 17 - 09:51 PM


MARY sulks an' Mary grummils,
Mary turns her heed away,
Mary cannet beer us funnin,
So aw think aw'll stop away,
It's Hannah's Sunday oot, an'
Hannah Likes a joke as weel as me,
Aw'd seuner gan a mile wi' Hannah,
Then hey a walk wi' Mary three!

Fareweel Mary, prood an' distint,
Aw'll not plague ye,-if aw gan,
If yor time shud cum te marry,
Aw hope aw maynit be yor man;
For if aw had a wife bad-temper'd,
She'd spoil mine, an' myek mine bad,
So gud-bye, hinny,-for aw's gannin,
Ye'll mebbies get anuther lad!

-Source: Joe Wilson, (author) Songs and Drolleries, 1890

Post - Top - Home - Printer Friendly - Translate

Subject: RE: Songs/Poems of Joe Wilson
From: *#1 PEASANT*
Date: 16 May 17 - 10:00 PM


TEUN- " Farewell, my Jumbaree. "

Aw had te meet young Mally once,
Aw'll not forget that neet;
She promised tiv us faithfully
Te be i' Grainger Street.
"She wad meet us near the Monniment,"
Te me she whisp'rin' said;
But, oh ! that disappointment
Such misery convey'd.


But, oh dear! Mally diddent cum!
She kept us waitin' there se lang,
Heart-broken-c-aw wes glum;
For it's an awful disappointment
When yor sweetheart dissent cum!

Aw went roond be the Market,
But Mally wassent there;
Throo Newgate Street an' Blackett Street,
Aw wander'd full 0' care;
Then went back te the Monniment,
But still aw cuddent see
The sweetheart that had promised
To meet us faithfully.

Northumberland Street, an' Percy Street,
Aw stagger'd wildly throo,
The breezes frae the Moor Edge
Cud nivvor cool me broo,
Forfever-heat-iv ivry street
Ne Mally aw cud see:
Aw went back to the Monniment
Increasin' misery.

l' Grey Street, an' i' Grainger Street,
For three lang oors or mair,
Me eyes obscured wi' grief an' gloom,
Greet sorrow for me share,
At last, aw myed me way back hyem,
But there aw cuddent sleep,
For oh ! aw nivvor thowt that Mall
Her promise waddent keep.

-Source: Joe Wilson, (author) Songs and Drolleries, 1890

Post - Top - Home - Printer Friendly - Translate

Subject: RE: Songs/Poems of Joe Wilson
From: *#1 PEASANT*
Date: 16 May 17 - 10:29 PM


AIR "Sally Lee."

YE Tyneside lads that's fond 0' sport,
Cum lissen unte me,
Aw'll sing 0' men byeth gud an' true,
Such as ye'll seldum see:
Aquatic sport's the forst 0' sport,
It's champeins ye'll agree
Cawse sensayshuns that ne uther
I' the world canivor de.


An' its gan on, Bob, lad i-a puller grand is he,
An' Taylor as a trainer, his like ye'll seldum see,
Besides thor byeth gud oarsmen,
An' when such two combine,
Where will ye find a pair te beat
Wor champeins on the Tyne.

Jimmy Taylor's won mair matches
Then many a champein's deun,
l' skiffs, or pairs, or fower-oars,
He's nearly always wun;
He's browt mair champein oarsmen oat
Then ony iver did,
His gen'ralship licks a' the world,
An' whe hes a chance wid?

Byeth England an' America
Knaw Jimmy Taylor weel;
As Renforth an' Tom Winship's mate
He'd always bravely peel;
Ay, an' noo he's .got Bob Bagnall,
A canny quiet lad,
Like aud "Honest Bob,"-detarmin'd,
He's not easy te be had.

Bob Bagnall's willin for the world
Te try thor strength wi' him,
An' he'll always be supported biv
His frind an' trainer,
Jim; An' when the champeinship cums off,
Aw hope we'll not repine,
But find young Bob, THE HERO,
Hailin frae the Coaly Tyne.

-Source: Joe Wilson, (author) Songs and Drolleries, 1890

Post - Top - Home - Printer Friendly - Translate

Subject: RE: Songs/Poems of Joe Wilson
From: *#1 PEASANT*
Date: 17 May 17 - 08:26 AM


TEUN- "It's time te get up."

JIM CARR wes only a poor man's son,
But a happy lad wes he,
He pass'd the days iv his patched-up claes,
Wiv a heart byeth leet an' free;
Ne trouble te cawse a moment's pain,
An' as blithe as he cud be,
He'd laffan' sing-"Aw wish a' the world·
Wes only as happy as me!"

The time flew by, an' he went te wark,
An' the forst change there he knew,
Wi' hearty will he displayed his skill,
An' a tidy workman grew;
He wes seun forst-class,-wi' honest pride,
An' a fyece lit up wi' glee,
He'd sing at wark-"Aw wish a' the world
Wes only as happy as me!"

Frev a man te maister noo he turn'd,
An' a brisk gud trade had he,
The orders poor'd in at iv'ry side,
Ay, far mair then he cud de;
An' frinds com roond him wi' open hands,
At least "thor a' frinds," thowt he,
An' gladly sung-" Aw wish a' the world
Wes only as lucky as met"
But swindlers com roond as weel as frinds,

An' a bankrupt seun he turn'd,
Cast off be them that profess'd the most,
Ay, neglected, robb'd, an' spurn'd;
He lay i' jail, wiv a doon-cast heart,
An' he wish'd that he wes free,
An' sung-" Iv a two-fyeced world like this,
Is thor not one true {rind te me!"
At last relieved frev his weary cage,

As journeyman he begun,
Gud fortun once mair clung tiv his side,
An' maister he wes seun;
The mair he myed-the mair trade he got,
Till independent was he,
An' then he sung-" Aw wish a' the world
Knew just only as much as me!"
"When aw diddent need a single frind,

Aw had plenty then," said he,
"But when aw did i' me hard-up times,
Not a one com up te me,
Aw'Illuck te me-sel, tho a selfish man
Aw divvent intend te be,
An' still sing on-Aw wish a! the world
May nivor de warse than met"

-Source: Joe Wilson, (author) Songs and Drolleries, 1890

Post - Top - Home - Printer Friendly - Translate

Subject: RE: Songs/Poems of Joe Wilson
From: *#1 PEASANT*
Date: 17 May 17 - 09:41 AM


TEUN- "Sal and Methusalam."

N00 iv a' the sprees that ivor ye saw,
Or ivor ye heard aboot,
Thor's one aw's sure that licks them a',
An' tyeks thor shine clean oot;
Three cobblers that aw's ackwented with,
One Monday left thor wark,
An' iv a weel-knawn public-hoose,
They kick'd up such a lark.


An' such a spree, whey, ye'll seldum see,
Where ivor ye may be,
For iv a' queer sprees, nebody sees
Owt like a cobblers' spree.

Thor funds wes thrippince-hap'ney, just,
The whole 0' what they'd got,
A pint was ordered-then browt in,
An' thrippince paid the shot;
A hap'ney noo wes a' they had left,
What cud they for a smoke de?
But ye wad lafft te seen a happorth
0' baeey sarve the three!

The pint wes drunk-they wanted mair,
So one wad sell his hat,
An' sixpence for the kadey teuk,
An' then they spent the sprat;
As a mark 0' luv tiv his UNCLE,
A chep's coat wes kindly sent,
Then two bob, like the sprat before,
Like leetnin com an' went.

But not content,-they wanted mair,
So one, a queer aud man,
Wad tyek his troosers off, an' let
Them heh them oot te pawn;
For want ov anuther pair, the sarvint's
Peddickit he put on,
"Whe's a Heelander noo?" says he,
"Bedad, an' it's me that's one!

Time wore on, an' the cobblers' wives
Thinkin thor men oot late,
They a' set off te the WAX-ENDINN,
Wi' minds myed up te wait,
The chep that had the peddickit on,
Te pieces wes nearly torn,
An' when the wives agreed te stop,
They kept up the spree till morn.

-Source: Joe Wilson, (author) Songs and Drolleries, 1890

Post - Top - Home - Printer Friendly - Translate

Subject: RE: Songs/Poems of Joe Wilson
From: *#1 PEASANT*
Date: 17 May 17 - 09:52 AM


TEUN-" The Upper Ten."

THE Sandgate lass is as canny a lass
As ivor a body can see,
Ye'll hey heard us sing 0' her before,
For they call her Sally Lee;
An' the Gyetside lad he's a reglor brick,
He's a forgeman at Hawks's noo,
An' lang he's followed the Sandgate lass,
As a couple thor's nyen mair true.


An' the Sandgate lass an' the Gyetside lad's
As happy a pair as thor can be had,
An' the foaks i' byeth cities 'ill be se glad
When they see them get married next Monday.

Says Sally te Bill, wiv a sigh, tuther day,
"We hevint as yit got a hoose,"
Says he, "We'v,e byeth a hoose 0' wor awn,
An' whativor wad be the use 0' thinkin
0' that when it's noo the time
That us two shud be myed one?
Ye can cum te wors an' aw'll cum te yors,
So consider the job it's deun!"

"But, Bill, if we shud hey ony bairns,"
Says she, "then what cud we de?"
Says he, "Ye can stop wi' yor muther,
An' aw'll cum an' stop wi' ye!"
Says she, "But, Bill, that wad nivvor de,
Aw's sure it wad lower ye doon,
For when clear 0' strife, each man an' wife
Shud byeth leeve i' one toon."

Says he, "Then is Sandgate not the syem
As Gyetside when yor Bill's there ?"
Says she, "It's just the syem te wor-sels,
So ye think we needint care;
But oh, the neybors 'ill say such things,
Aw wadn't like ye for te knaw,
An' if ye'll not myek us a real wife,
Aw'll not get married at a'!"

Says Bill,-an' then he wiped his eyes,'
"Aw wes just for fun tryin' ye,
Whey, aw've got byeth hoose an' furnitor,
As grand as ony can be,
When Gyetside an' yor city unites,
It'll put Ii the world at peace,
An' we'll myek't wor aim for hyem an' fame,
A fine cross-breed tiv increase!"

-Source: Joe Wilson, (author) Songs and Drolleries, 1890

Post - Top - Home - Printer Friendly - Translate

Subject: RE: Songs/Poems of Joe Wilson
From: *#1 PEASANT*
Date: 17 May 17 - 12:23 PM


AIR-"The Fyerey Clock Fyece."

OR, hinny, heh ye seen wor Jack,
Oh, hinny, heh ye seen him?
Ye knaw that he's a reglor black,
So divvent attempt te screen him;
A few weeks since, the silly feul,
Drew all his brass an' got se full,
He lost it a', the slaverin cull,
An' what de ye think 0' Jack's luck?

A pollis copt him on his beat,
That knew his clivor swagger,
Wi' mony a push frae left te reet,
Jack seun began te stagger;
An' twenty shillins he had te pay,
An' when they did let him away,
He got far warse that vary day,
An' what de ye think 0' Jack's luck?

The next day he went te the Moor,
Te back a chep at boolin,
An' what aw say's quite true, aws sure,
His bad luck still kept rulin ;
He went an' he laid agyen the crack,
But the crack wes ower much for Jack,
An' the bool knockt him fiat on his back,
An' what de ye think 0' Jack's luck?

He went te Gyetside Borough Grund,
Te back a flyin' runner,
For sum grand clivor tip he'd fund,
An' swore it wes a stunner;
But the vary chep he backt te win
Wes last ova' when they com in,
Jack lost his watch besides his tin,
An' what de ye think 0' Jack's luck?

He went an' sell'd his furnitor,
Te try an' bring back losses,
Awoften wundor hoo he dor
Defy se many crosses;
He backt a horse te win a·race,
But like his luck-this wes the case,
It tummil'd doon, an' lost last place,
An' what de ye think 0' Jack's luck?

The last grand bet he myed, an' he
Can give us ne denial,
He laid a quid a week wad de
Te finish the Titchborne trial;
Noo Jack at nowt 'ill ivor stick,
For the way he says he'll de the trick,
Whativor he gets he'll hey on tick,
An' what de ye think 0' Jack's luck?

-Source: Joe Wilson, (author) Songs and Drolleries, 1890

Post - Top - Home - Printer Friendly - Translate

Subject: RE: Songs/Poems of Joe Wilson
From: *#1 PEASANT*
Date: 17 May 17 - 12:45 PM


BOB SMITH lost his job, an' he cuddent fall in
Wiv anuther se ready or handy,
So he thowt he wad just try the beuk trav'lin dodge,
An' myek money, an' seun be a dandy;
So he got a big stock frev an agent he knew,
The finest ov ivry edishun,
Then he drest his-sel up iv his best Sunday claes,
An' set off on his wark, on commishun.

He reckond for sartin that myest ov his frinds
Wad give him a greet thumpin order,
For he'd got a collecshun thor fancies te suit,
Byeth the Life 0' Christ, Hist'ry, an' Murder;
But sum had ne money,-an' sum had mair sense
Then te tyek in a beuk wi' ne endin,
Not even wi' them foaks that nivvor pay owt,
Cud Bob myek a bissiniss extendin.

So he went tiv a village not far frae the toon,
Thinks he, "Aw'll be successful yit, man,"
An' the forst time he open'd his parcel o' beuks
Wes i' the hoose ov a canny aud pitman;
He show'd them the pictors te dazzle thor eyes,
An' then tawk'd aboot hist'ry an' hivvin,
But when he had finish'd, the pitman gov thenks
For the sarmin Bob gratis had given.

Then he tried a new tack i' the varry next hoose,
Siclowpeedees noo got Bob's greet praises,
But a gud templor says, "Sic low pee dee's tawk here,
Me man, aw can tell ye 'ill raise us!"
"Next week," says anuther, "ye can bring us Bell's Life,
Or the Sportsman ye may bring us one day,
For them's the two papers aw only tyek in,
An' aw care for nowt else on a Sunday!"

The next hoose he call'd at, nebody cud reed,
An' the bairns nearly spoil'd a' his pietors,
Bob put them away wiv a sad, heavy heart,
An' cursed all his gud-fortun predictors; Says he,
"A job like this wants plenty 0' cheek,
An' for that, whey, just noo aw's not wishin,
But before aw start next aw'Il heh wages put doon,
An' a salary besides a commishun!"

-Source: Joe Wilson, (author) Songs and Drolleries, 1890

Post - Top - Home - Printer Friendly - Translate

Subject: RE: Songs/Poems of Joe Wilson
From: *#1 PEASANT*
Date: 17 May 17 - 12:58 PM


AIR.-"Kiss me Quick."

THE bellman wes sent roond the toon,
Te let foaks hear his voice
Annoonce that Mooney,
King 0' Sweeps,
That day wad wed his choice;
An' ivrybody clapt thor hands,
An' myed the whole toon ring
Wi' joy,-but still aw thowt aw heard
The Sweep's intended sing:


De ye think aw'lI blush for bag an' brush,
If ye de, whey, yor a spooney;
Luv's voos aw'll keep true te me sweep,
Gud luck te me an' Mooney!

The morn wes wet, still croods flockt roond
The hoose that held the pair,
An' cabs an' cairts afore the door,
Myed a' the peepil stare,
Wi' sweeps drest up like lords se grand,
An' "happy as a king,"
The bridegroom's man struck up the teun
The fair bride liked te sing
De ye think, etc.

At last te church the jolly crood,
As hearty led the way,
An' such a scene wes nivvor seen
Be priest like that that day;
The foaks wad tawk far mair nor him,
When he put on the ring,
An' little held the marry thrang
l' church that day te sing
De ye think, etc.

At last at hyem amang wor-sels,
Jim Kane wad playa teun,
An' then Jim Renforth sung a sang,
An' then the fun begun;
For Mooney an' his canny wife's
Gud happiness te bring,
We drunk thor hilths a hundrid times,
Besides we'd often sing
De ye think, etc.

We left them just as happy as
We'd met them i' the morn,
An' hoped we'd find them just the syem,
Whenivor we'd return.
But time's gyen by, an' noo a bairn
Te the happy pair'll cling,
Wi' dad an' mammy biv its side,
It often hears them sing
De ye think, etc.

-Source: Joe Wilson, (author) Songs and Drolleries, 1890

Post - Top - Home - Printer Friendly - Translate

Subject: RE: Songs/Poems of Joe Wilson
From: *#1 PEASANT*
Date: 17 May 17 - 01:08 PM


AIR-" The Sezoi« Masheen."

Two little bairns sat on a law door-step,
A little bit lad an' a lass,
An' the little lass cried wiv a heart-broken cry,
That aw cuddent for a' the world pass,
When aw heard her say wiv a sob an' a sigh,
An' a fyece full 0' sorrow te see,
"Oh, Johnny, me fethur an' muther's falI'n oat,
An' it's seldum aw see them agree."


"Ye waddent act badly te me?
No, ye waddent act badly te me,
What gud wad it de te ye or te me?
Ye waddent act badly te me?"

"They've fittin a' day,-de ye hear the noise
0' thor tungs an' thor hands at war?
Aw's flaid te gan in when thor at it se bad,
An' away aw'd be ivor se far;
But away frae them cud aw find ony joy?
No! no! aw wad mis'ribbil be,
For still thor me fethur an' muther the syem,
An' aw wish they cud only agree."

"What a queer thing foaks shud fite i' that way,
When they've leev'd tegither for eers,
Ye wad think they wad fill a' the hoose wi' smiles,
I'steed 0' se mony sad tears;
Can ye think that foaks grown up shud fall oot?
When little bairns like us agree,
An' oh, Johnny, lad, cud we ivor fall oot?
Ye wad nivvor act badly te me?"

"Oh, Meggie, me lass," says the little bit lad,
"De ye think we cud ivor heh words?
Tho me fethur an' muther 'ill quarrel like yors,
Aw'm sorry te see thor discords;
But oh, Meggie lass, if we leeve te grow up,
An' man an' wife ivor shud be,
Aw's sartin ye'll nivvor vex me wi' yor tung,
An' aw waddent act badly te ye!"

Aw've thowt 0' that neet when aw heard this crack,
Since then mony a eer's gyen by,
Thor byeth grown up an' wed, but the life they leed
It's the syem weary story an' cry;
For examples they've seen i' the days lang past,
Myeks them that they can nivvor agree,
Wi' the words that they utter'd completely forgot,
"Oh, ye waddent act badly te me! "

-Source: Joe Wilson, (author) Songs and Drolleries, 1890

Post - Top - Home - Printer Friendly - Translate

Subject: RE: Songs/Poems of Joe Wilson
From: *#1 PEASANT*
Date: 17 May 17 - 01:24 PM


TEUN-"Peg's Trip te Tynemouth."

CUM lissen, a' me merry men,
Te what ye'll just hear noo an' then,
It licks nine cases oot o' ten,
This one aboot the Bobby, O.
He knew a widow smart an' neat,
That had a beer-hoose 'lang the street;
So ivry neet when on his beat,
A frindly call myed Bobby, O.

He thowt sum day he'd lanlord be,
An' actwilly he myed se free,
Efter closin time he'd hey a spree,
An' thowt he did it nab by, 0;
For spungin he thowt he wes reet,
An' liked it better then his beat,
He thowt if he proposed one neet,
She'd not refuse her Bobby, O.

But lang had she a sweetheart had,
A jolly Jack tar wes her lad,
He thowt it waddent be se bad
Te spoil the Bobby's hobby, 0;
So one neet iv his sailor's claes,
He goh the Bobby ivry praise
An' mair drink than he'd had for days,
It stupefied poor Bobby, O.

When Bob got drunk Jack got him doon,
Then changed thor claes se varry seun,
He bravely marched reet roond the toon
Wiv his prisoner, Bobby, 0!
He laid him at the Stayshun door,
Where Bobby seun begun te snore,
It myed anuther Bobby roar
"Here's a drunken sailor, nobby, 0!

He teuk him up,-then teuk him in,
Where Bobby pleaded for his sin,
The time the sailor went te win
The widow, Bobby's hobby, 0;
The sailor's case wes fairly wun,
The widow quite injoyed the fun,
But Bobby noo wes quite undeun,
He wes ne mair a Bobby, O!

-Source: Joe Wilson, (author) Songs and Drolleries, 1890

Post - Top - Home - Printer Friendly - Translate

Subject: RE: Songs/Poems of Joe Wilson
From: *#1 PEASANT*
Date: 17 May 17 - 01:35 PM


TEUN- "I comeFrom sweet Killarney."

SAYS Peg, "Maw Jim's a canny lad,
As canny as can be,
An' thor's not a porter pokeman
Says owt else on the Kee ;
He works as hard as ony man,
An' spends his brass as free:
Aw cuddent like anuther lad,
He thinks se much 0' me.


He's a nobby porter pokeman on the Keeside,
An' frae Blaydon reet doon te the sea-side,
Thor's not one that's better spoken
Then me canny porter pokeman,
An' he's just the sort 0' lad te follow me.

He carries loads wad brik the back
Ov ony uther man,
An' mony a time he briks a heed
He nail'd me uncle Dan
For sayin that he wassent gud
Eneuff te marry me,
Becawse aw've kept an oringe stall
Se lang upon the Kee.

They say he's ower fond 0' Nell
That sells the fish doon by ;
A' they sweer that at sum barmaid
He alwayswinks his eye;
But if the barmaid fancies him,
He'd nivvor want his beer,
For aw knaw if he's ivor short,
Aw always find him here.

Thor's not a couple that ye see
Can dance like him an' me,
We knockt about a duzzin ower
One neet at Thomson's tea;
He likes his gill, an' so div aw,
An' when wor on the spree,
Aw'd like te see a duzzin try
Te knock doon him an' me.

Aw'd like te see him marry me,
If not it's just the syem,
Aw waddent fall oot wiv him
If he diddent change me nyern;
As lang as he'sel dissent change,
He's gud eneuff for me,
Nebody hes owt te de wid,
Maw pride's upon the Kee."

-Source: Joe Wilson, (author) Songs and Drolleries, 1890

Post - Top - Home - Printer Friendly - Translate

Subject: RE: Songs/Poems of Joe Wilson
From: *#1 PEASANT*
Date: 17 May 17 - 01:59 PM


A POOR aud wife, iv a lonely room,
Sits biv hor-sel i' the darknin gloom;
I' the grate thor's just the faintest spark
Te frighten away the dreary dark.
There she sits till she totters te bed,
An' mony a day this life she's led;
Withoot a frind te cum near te speak,
She's starvin on fifteen-pence a week.
The parish allows her half-a-croon !
Half-a-croon i' this fiorishin toon !
Fifteen-pence she pays for the rent,
Hoo is the fifteen left te be spent?

Wi' prayer she welcums the mornin's leet;
Welcums the leet, tho' it bringsne meat;
Welcums the leet 0' the mornin gray,
Te sit biv hor-sel the lang weary day:
Tho' wishin her awn poor life away,
She clings tid still while she hes te stay;
For, oh, she knaws that she dissent disarve
Te finish her days like this-te starve!
An' ninety eers, if she leeves te see,
In a few short munths her age 'ill be;
Withoot a frind i; the world te say"
Canny aud wife, hoo are ye the day? "

Can ye compare this case te yor-sel?
An' bring te mind what aw cannet tell,
Yor daily wants that ye daily seek,
Supplied on the fifteen-pence a week.
Is this not eneuff te myek ye fear
Yor-sel an' bairns when yor end draws near?
Hopeless, helpless, she's not te complain,
But pine away in hunger an' pain.
Wad she iver dream that she'd leeve te see
An' poverty feel hard as it can be?
Thor's nowt te nourish, or nowt that cheers,
Her poor aud sowl i' declinin eers.

Wimmen 0' charity! Men 0' sense!
Hoo can she spend her fifteen-pence?
Can she afford te buy a bit coal
Te warm her hands, an' her heart console?
Hoo can she get what she stands i' need
Wi' hardly eneuff te buy her breed?
Oot 0' the poor-rates heavy they seek,
She's starvin on fifteen-pence a week.
The parish allows her half-a-croon!
Half-a-croon i' this florishin toon!
Fifteen-pence she pays for the rent,
Hoo is the fifteen left te be spent?

[Mrs. E., the subject of the above verses, during the latter end of 1873,
was unfortunately run over near Earl Grey's Monument, having her leg
broke through the accident, which renders the poor old woman doubly helpless.]

-Source: Joe Wilson, (author) Songs and Drolleries, 1890

Post - Top - Home - Printer Friendly - Translate

Subject: RE: Songs/Poems of Joe Wilson
From: *#1 PEASANT*
Date: 17 May 17 - 02:17 PM


TEUN- "Says aw, says he."

BILL HADDOCK he got se awful drunk,
His wife she lockt him in,
Says she tiv hor-sel,
"He'll get ne mair yell,
An' for once he mun put in the pin."
Bill Haddock he fell fast asleep,
Before she had left the door,
An' i' dreams he thowt the best thing he cud de,
Wes te hey a jolly gud snore.


It's a clivor thing for a wummin te de,
Te lock her gud man in,
An' gan away i' glee an' hey a jolly spree,
An' spend the whole 0' the tin.

When she fund him asleep she went away,
An' she got as drunk as him,
Says she, " Aw've a reet for a fuddle the neet,
So fill us a glass te thebrim!"
An' she thowt hor-sel se varry safe,
A pickpocket close at hand,
Got haudov her key as a bit ova spree,
An' myed her the whole drops stand.

But she fund it wesgettin ower late,
So she thowt it wes best te gan
Tiv her awn gud hyem for the sake of her nyem,
An' lie wiv her awn gud man.
But when she got up te the door,
She fund the key wes gyen,
So she gov a greet knock, nivvor mind what o'clock,
It wes time te be in bed then.

Oot the windowhe popt his greet heed,
Says he, "What de ye want there?"
Says she, "Aw'm here, an' aw've been on the beer,
So cum doon or aw'll pull yor hair!" Says he,
"If ye hevint the key,
Ye can just stop there where ye are,
For aw've got nyen, so ye had better gan hyem
Te yor muther's, an' that's not far."

Says she, "Ye greet unfeelin brute,
De ye mean te keep us here cawd?
If ye'll not let us in aw'll kick up a din,
An' the foaks 'ill declare yor mad!"
Says he, "Will ye not let us oot?
For aw hevint the key inside;
Ye can gan te the divvil, if yor not varry civil,
An' when ye get there, there bide!"

As stupid as she was, there an' then
She went an' borrow'd a key,
An' open'd the door, an' knockt him on the floor,
An' said, "De ye think that 'ill de? "
But he gov her back such a smack
On the nose wiv an aud baccy chow,
An' the story it shows be the smack on her nose,
Drunken couples thor in for a row!

-Source: Joe Wilson, (author) Songs and Drolleries, 1890

Post - Top - Home - Printer Friendly - Translate

Subject: RE: Songs/Poems of Joe Wilson
From: *#1 PEASANT*
Date: 17 May 17 - 03:53 PM


AT morn, when frae yor bed ye rise,
Ye shrug yor shoolders, rub yor eyes;
What d'ye want te calm, refresh?
Wi' soap a gud an' hearty wesh;
Then ready for yor mornin's feast,
A cup 0' coffee warms the breest :
For soap an' coffee aw excel
Aw'm startin business for me-sel,

At noon, when frae yor daily toil
Yor freed te dine-the pot i'boil
Wi' broth, at hyem, yor heart 'ill cheer,
Gud dinners myek the hoose mair dear,
But broth, withoot thor's plenty peas
An' barley i' them, seldum please;
For barley, peas,-green, whole, an' splet,
Cum te maw shop, the best ye'll get. .

Then Time flees on wi' 'lectric wings
Till tea-time, hoosehold cumfort brings;
Each happygroop sits doon te tea,
A plissent, hyemly seet te see;
But plissent chat seun turns abuse
Withoot thor's sugar in the hoose;
For sugar-lump an' soft, wi' tea,
Thor's nyen keeps half as gud as me.

Then supper-time cums roond at last,
Aw wish 'twes here-aw cannet fast;
Wi' tea or coffee, nowt can beat
A slice 0' bacon, gud an' sweet;
A piece 0' cheese might de as weel,
Content wi' either ye wad feel;
Just try maw shop, it's sure te please,
Maw bacon's what ye call the cheese.

What is't ye aw se often need?
What is't that myeks the best 0' breed?
The Staff 0' Life, ye'Il guess, aw'ssure,
Wad nivvor been withoot gud floor;
But breed, like ivry other thing,
Needs butter, so its praise aw'll sing:
For floor an' butter-salt an' sweet,
Aw sell the best iv any street.

Then Sunday cums-wi' frinds te tea,
When spice-kyeks fiorish, weel-te-de;
When corns an' raisins, floor an' lard,
Share i'the hoosewife's kind regard;
The finest raisins, lard, an' corns,
An' a', the weel-fill'dhoose adorns;
Aw nivvor brag-but gud an' cheap,
The parry best on orth aw keep.

-Source: Joe Wilson, (author) Songs and Drolleries, 1890

Post - Top - Home - Printer Friendly - Translate

Subject: RE: Songs/Poems of Joe Wilson
From: *#1 PEASANT*
Date: 17 May 17 - 04:02 PM


IN JENEWARRY,aw wes bad:
The snaw an' sleet had gien us cawd.

In FEBREWARRY, i' the fog,
Tom Purvis com an' stole me dog.

In MAIRCR, aw went an' booled Jack Kidd,
An' tried te loss-but cuddent did.

In YEPRIL, aw wes bad wi' pains,
Browt on throo drink an' heavy rains.

In MAY, te bet aw did begin,
An' backt a horse that diddent win.

In JUNE, aw had ne better fate,
Aw backt the last un i' the" Plate."

IN JVLY, at the West End Park,
Aw danced a polka-what a lark!

IN AWGUST, aw'd te stor me shins,
Wor Peg was put te bed wi' twins.

SEPTEMBER com :-aw got the sack,
Throo fuddlin wi' me Unkil Jack.

OCTOBER:- I' one mornin dark,
Aw'm sad te say, aw started wark.

NOVEMBER myed me hands quite hard,
Aw broke styens i' the prison yard.

DISSEMBOR browt us oot 0' there;
Aw'll 'nivvor strike a Bobby mair.

-Source: Joe Wilson, (author) Songs and Drolleries, 1890

Post - Top - Home - Printer Friendly - Translate

Subject: RE: Songs/Poems of Joe Wilson
From: *#1 PEASANT*
Date: 17 May 17 - 08:53 PM


TEUN-"Trust to Luck."

MEGGIE LEE, Meggie Lee,
Yor as mean as can be,
Tho yor kind te yor-sel,
Yor ne gud wife te me.
Aw nivvor imagined
Ye'd turn oot a springe,
Such a miserly body,
A rnis'rable whinge.
Aw've had coffee for brickfist,
Me dinner, an' tea;
An' the hard-hearted crust's
Gien the teuth-ake te me.
Meggie Lee, Meggie Lee,
Will me wages not sarve
Ye te leeve weel yor-sel,
Withoot myekin me starve?
Meggie Lee, Meggie Lee,
Yor as mean as can be,
Tho yor kind te yor-sel,
Yor ne gud wife te me.

Meggie Lee, Meggie Lee,
Heh ye myed it a rule
For me aud pocket-hanksher
Te sarve for a tool?
Then me shart's nivvor wesh'd,
An' me stockins all holes,
An' the sheets on the bed's
Just as black as sma' coals,
Ye once blackt me beuts
But ye nivvor mair need,
For ye polished them byeth
An' the grate wi' black-leed,
Meggie Lee, Meggie Lee,
Then me baccy's ne joke,
If a happorth aw chow,
It sarves twice for a smoke.
Meggie Lee, Meggie Lee,
Yor as mean as can be,
Tho yor kind te yor-sel,
Yor ne gud wife te me.

Meggie Lee, Meggie Lee,
De ye mind 0' the day,
When, wearied wi' wark,
Aw se soond asleep lay?
An' the time aw wes sleepin,
Ye greesed a' me mooth,
Till quite famished aw waken'd
Wi' hunger an' drooth:
Awaxt for me dinner,
An' ye said, "Ye greet loon!
Whey, yor gob proves ye had it
Afore ye lay doon!"
Meggie Lee, Meggie Lee,
Gies ne mair 0' yor brags,
For ye knaw that the bairn's
Half-starved an i' rags.
Meggie Lee, Meggie Lee,
Yor as mean as can be,
Tho' yor kind te yor-sel,
Yor ne gud wife te me.

-Source: Joe Wilson, (author) Songs and Drolleries, 1890

Post - Top - Home - Printer Friendly - Translate

Subject: RE: Songs/Poems of Joe Wilson
From: *#1 PEASANT*
Date: 18 May 17 - 09:00 PM


TEUN-" Pull away Cheerily."

THOR'S sum men that's born te be weel celebrated,
An' aud Tommy Williamson fairly licks a';
Thor's nyen se renoon'd as the Weather Predictor,
He beats all eccentrics that ivor aw saw.
Aw've seen him drest up wiv a hat an' a band on't
A reed, white, an' blue, that wad dazzle yor eyes;
At pic-nics, or owt that 'ill cawse a sensashun,
Aw've thawt he wes king 0' the foaks that's se wise.


Thor's sum men that's born te be wee! celebrated,
But aud Tommy Williamson fairly licks a';
Thor's nyen se renoon'd as the Weather Predictor,
He beats all eccentrics that ivor aw saw.

His mem'ry wad baffle the best 0' gud scholars,
He nivvor forgets brickfist, dinner, an' tea,
An' wi' the lang brush he's a stunner at danein,
Besides a fine singer, an' fond ov a spree;
Ye'll see half-a-column sumtimes i' the papers,
Where he tells ye what days 'ill be wet an' what dry,
An' for gein ye the gud ov such grand informashun,
The Willington Prophet ye'll nivvor find shy.

He wrote his awn hist'ry te please his ackwentinse,
An' tells ye that Norton wes where he wes born,
He's been a man-sarvint tiv a' kinds 0' farmers,
His adventors sum lybory beuk wad adorn ;
He menshuns what kortships he's had iv his lifetime,
An' tells ye what fine-luckin lasses he's had;
But wiv all his greet fancy for Jenny an' Nancy,
He says that his Sarah wes pick 0' the squad.

But Sarah's departed, an' left Tommy wifeless,
He langs for anuther te fill up her place;
But Tommy, i' kortin's, knawn nowt but misfortin,
Yor sympathy give tiv his pitiful case;
He's knawn what it is te be completely jilted,
Wiv a' his greet knowledge he knew less then sum;
For he'd nivvor heh thowt ov agyen gettin married,
If he cud hey prophesied what wes te cum.

Aw've often heard mentioned, but mind it's a secret,
That the foaks j' the coonty intend for te raise
A moniment grand te the mem'ry 0' Tommy,
When he's deed, just as fine an' as high as Earl Grey's;
But lang may he leeve, lang may we see Tommy,
May he nivvor knaw what a storm is at hyem;
If he marries agyen, may they myek plenty prophets,
An' leeve a young Tommy te keep gud his nyem

-Source: Joe Wilson, (author) Songs and Drolleries, 1890

Post - Top - Home - Printer Friendly - Translate

Subject: RE: Songs/Poems of Joe Wilson
From: *#1 PEASANT*
Date: 18 May 17 - 09:10 PM


TEUN-" The Happy Land of Erin."

AW'M myest settled noo for life,
For aw'm gawn te tyek a wife,
An' her fethur's gawn te giv his bisniss tiv her;
He's independent noo,
He's as rich as any Jew,
Throo the keuk shop that he manages se clivvor.


Her fethur keeps a keuk shop;
An' monya lad aw knaw
Te win me Mary's hand they've often sowt her;
But aw'Il use the knife an' fork
Te byeth mutton, beef, an' pork,
Like the aud man, when aw wed his canny dowter.

Iv'ry day at twelve o'clock,
Ye shud only see them flock
Roond the coonter, for the canny man te sarve them;
Frae the joints that's smokin het,
If a smell ye only get,
It 'ill please yor eyes an' nose te see him carve them.

Ye shud see them feast thor eyes
On the soop, the meat, an' pies,
For such hungry-Iuckin customers surraand him;
But he's ower wide awake
Te myek any greet mistake,
His aud-fashin'd fyece 'ill show they'll not confoond him.

He's seun gawn te retire
Frae the keuk shop an' its fire,
Aw'll succeed him,-an' ne better cud be sowt for;
A fortin noo he's myed,
So his dowter gets the trade,
An' it's a sartinty it's me that gets the dowter.

The mysteries ov the pies
An' the sassages aw'll prize,
Aw heh ne call te tell the neybors what we trade on;
"Where ignorance is bliss"
Informashun brings distress,
So it's best for folks te knaw nowt what thor made on.

-Source: Joe Wilson, (author) Songs and Drolleries, 1890

Post - Top - Home - Printer Friendly - Translate

Subject: RE: Songs/Poems of Joe Wilson
From: *#1 PEASANT*
Date: 18 May 17 - 09:24 PM


TEUN-" The Fiery Clock-Fyece."

"CUM, hinny, divvent stop an' talk,

But try for once te please us,
An' wi' yor lad just hey a walk
Te the Park that's on the Leazes;
Cum, howay, show yoi bonny goon,
An' there ye'll see the greetest boon
That's ivor been gein te the toonIt's the
Park that's on the Leazes.


"Then howay, hinny, cum away,
It's a treat that's safe te please us;
Wor sure te spend a happy day
I' the Park that's on the Leazes.

"Such happy couples there ye'll see,
Drest i' the hight ov fashun,
Wi' sparklin eyes, like ye an'me,
Lit up wi' true luv's pashun;
In hundrids they'll aroond ye pass,
'Mang trees an' fiooers, and real green grass,
Where lass seeks lad, an' lad seeks lass,
l' the Park that's on the Leazes;

"Besides, ye'll see the bonny lake
Iv all its grand completeness,
Where sportive ducks yor eye 'ill tyek,
An' sparrows chirp wi' sweetness;
Where ivrything's se weeIlaid oot:
The Island, an' all roond aboot;
Where Sunday claes cum frae the' spoot'
Te the Park that's on the Leazes,

"Thor's seats an' shelter for us tee,
Eneuff te rest the mony,
Where aud foaks there may sit an' see
Young generashuns bonny;
Where married foaks can meet thor frinds;
Where oot-door plissure here extends;
Where pride an' dress thor half-day spends
I' the Park that's on the Leazes.

"Noo, them that call'd it 'Hamond's Pond'
I'll wundor at the pictor,
Shut up they mun for bein fond,
Or else aw's ne predictor:
For seun the park'ill spreed se wide
That ivryone can boast wi' pride
Ne toon can beat war awn Tyneside
An' the Park that's on the Leazes."

-Source: Joe Wilson, (author) Songs and Drolleries, 1890

Post - Top - Home - Printer Friendly - Translate

Subject: RE: Songs/Poems of Joe Wilson
From: *#1 PEASANT*
Date: 19 May 17 - 10:04 PM



ONE neet beside the fire aw wes sittin, camly smokin,
Dreamin nearly ivrything, an' nowt porticklor, tee;
Me eyes fell on the pictors that wes hingin close abuv us,
An' awcuddent help reflectin on the changes that we see.
A likeness 0' me muther's cussin seemed te dare inspection,
Wiv its glarin, gawdy eullors that cud only bring te mind
Me attempts at myekin pictors when at scheul, nowt but a laddy,
Aw wes always spoilin paper wi'just paintins 0' that kind.
They called this thing a portrait that wes hingin there se brazend!
Awetter-cullor'd work ovairtl-aw lafft the mairawsaw'd.
Thinks aw, whey,yor a fashun that 'illnivvor mair be wanted,
An' aw'll nivvor hey anuther beauty like ye if aw knaw'd.

Next me eyes fell on a pietor (aw caned pictor for a bynyem!)
Awwundor'd whe had ivor teun the trubbil for te framed.
It was meant for Bill, me unkil, at least, so Aunt Bessy tell'd us;
"Then he mun heh been a blacky, aunt!" aw laffinly exclaimed.
For whereivor aw cud see the likeness iv a black piece 0' paper
Clagg'd ona bit 0' pyest-board, an' stuck up agyen the wall,
Aw cud nivvor yet imadgin, tho, mind, not for want 0' tryin;
Thinks aw, if Bill's a beauty, te see'd here the chance is small.
An' they called this thing a portraitl-'twes hingin there se black-like, .
Luckin like a paltry plaything, an' not even worth the nyem:
For its reet nyem's "Imposition," myed te catch greenhorns that fancy
They can trace a faint risemblance where ne likeness hes a hyem.
Next me eyes fell on a portrait byethweel worth the name an' notis,
An' it seemed te knaw the place it held, te shem them biv its side;
It myed us bliss Photography, that wonderful invention,
For the pictor wes eneuff'te filla fellow's breest wi'pride.
Then the likeness wes se bonny, an' se strikin, an' se lifelike,
Whey, in fact, 'twes just the model 0' me canny sweetheart Nan!
Aw cud fancy her beside us, an' cud nearly think her speakin,
An' me heart beat high te think sum dayaw'd be her awn gudman!
Aw mind the day that it wes teun, aw thowt a' wimmin simple,
Except i' hoosehold duties, where thor always quite at hyem:
She teuk an oor te get her hair put up in proper order,
An' blushed when she went i'the place as if she thowt a shem.

The artist tell'd her just te luck at one place for a minnit,
But she niver teuk her eyes awayfrae that spot a'the time;
She kept them there while he wes dein sumthing i' the cupboard,
Where photographic artists work thor mysteries sublime.
When it was seen, Nan's eyes wes starin like two cheeny sawsors;
He tried anuther, when she had two heedsinsteed 0' one;
She squinted i'the next un ; an'the chep wesfairlybothered.
Says he, "If ye'll keep still, in half-a-minnit aw'll be deun."
At last she did keep'her bonny eyes they glissen'd
When she saw the pictor finished that's se varry dear te me;
But seun aw'll hev its marrow in the hoose, alive, beside us,
An' aw'll bliss the happy pictor that thor's sartin for te be.

-Source: Joe Wilson, (author) Songs and Drolleries, 1890

Post - Top - Home - Printer Friendly - Translate

Subject: RE: Songs/Poems of Joe Wilson
From: *#1 PEASANT*
Date: 19 May 17 - 10:14 PM



TEUN-" Babylon is Falling."

l' THE bloom 0' life he left us,
Wi' thowts 0' nowt.but vict'ry,
He cross'd the greet Atlantic wiv his crew;
Nivvor dreamin 0' misfortin,
Till Deeth's dreed visitation
Struck helpless the grand fellow that we knew.


Gyen frae the hyern we knaw he liked ee weel!
Gyen frae the frinds that held him ivor dear!
We've lost poor Jimmy Renforth,
The Champein ov all Champeins,
The hero of all rivers, far an' near.
Wiva crew byeth brave an' manly,

The frinds that he had fancied,
He started on a journey myed te pain,
An' bring sorrow, sad an' weary,
Te hearts that least expected
They'd hear a bard gie vent i' mournful strain.
Gyen frae the hyem, etc.

Oh! Jim, what myed ye leave us?
What myed ye leave the Tyneside
Te meet yor deeth se sadly, far away?
An' hearts wes fairly broken,
Te hear thor gallant Champein,
l' Harry Kelley's airms, se lifeless lay.
Gyen frae the hyem, etc.

Ye cruel Atlantic Cable,
What fearful news ye browt us,
What different tidings we expected here;
Till dismay'd an' affected,
We heard a fearful whisper
Run throo the toon like leetnin, far an' near.
Gyen frae the hyem, etc.

-Source: Joe Wilson, (author) Songs and Drolleries, 1890

Post - Top - Home - Printer Friendly - Translate

Subject: RE: Songs/Poems of Joe Wilson
From: *#1 PEASANT*
Date: 19 May 17 - 10:24 PM


TEUN-" Aull sing ye a Tyneside Sang."

IN 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' aw'll sing ov one that's deun se on the Wear.


An' oh, me lads, it myeks me heart se glad,
Te sing ye a sang te please ye here,
Then, give a hearty cheer For the Champein of the Wear,
Ay, a hearty cheer for Aleck on the Wear.

Thor's not one that's pull'd an oa,
Iv his day, or yit before,
That wes better liked then Aleck Hogarth here,
For he's one amang the few,
That's been always game an' true,
An' strite forward, hes the Champein of the Wear.

Then he's foremost i' the brave,
When thor's ivor lives te save,
An' thor's mony a hoose this day'd been sad an' drear,
If it haddent been for him,
When for life an' deeth he'd swim,
An' the bravery he display'd upon the Wear:

He's a canny quiet man,
An' it's always been his plan,
As an honest one, te pull throo his career,
An' thor's nyen ye can select
That's disarvin mair respect
Than brave Aleck Hogarth, Champein of the Wear.

-Source: Joe Wilson, (author) Songs and Drolleries, 1890

Post - Top - Home - Printer Friendly - Translate

Subject: RE: Songs/Poems of Joe Wilson
From: *#1 PEASANT*
Date: 20 May 17 - 08:53 AM


TEUN- "Mally Dunn."

"WHAT'S kept ye oot se lang, me lass?
What's kept ye i' the street?
Aw saw ye tawkin te Nan Broon,
Aw thowt ye'd stop a' neet,
Aw warn'd she's tell'd ye a' the news,
For gossip gies her life;
Sit doon, an' let's hear what she said,
She's such a tawky wife! "


For Nanny Broon knaws a' the toon,
The neybors' joy an' strife,
She knaws far better then tbor-sels:
She's such a queer aud wife.

"Whey, man, she says that Geordey Hall's
Gyen sairly te the bad;
An' Mistress Thompsin's dowter Meg's
Gawn daft aboot her lad;
An' Harry Hedley's gyen te sea;
An' Tommy's oot on strike;
An' Betty, te get married's teun
A man she dissent like.

"She says Mall Johnson's left her place,
She thinks she's got the bag;
An' Kelly's Sunday's dinner wes
A paltry bit 0' scrag;
An' Fanny Nelson's furnitor's
Been sell'd te pay the rent;
An' Mistress Bradley's eldest son
Last week te jail wes sent.

"She says thor wes anuther row
In Pilgrim Street last week;
An' Geordey Bell's a nice young chep
If it wassent for his cheek;
Bell Wilkey's gawn te be confined:
Her sweetheart's ron away,
An' sweers the young un issent his,
An' he's not gawn te pay.

"She says Meg Dunn's got married, an'
lt issent ower seun;
l' few weeks' time she's bund te hey
A dowter or a son.
Her muther wes the syem way held
Before young Peg wes born;
It's only reet her dowter shud
In trubble tyek her turn.

II She says it's time the world shud end,
When it's se full 0' sin;
An' Peggy Wood wad sell her sowl
For half-a-pint 0' gin.
Hoo Janey Todd can get such dress
Few ladies cud afford,
Nan says she winnet even guess,
Or iver say a word."

-Source: Joe Wilson, (author) Songs and Drolleries, 1890

Post - Top - Home - Printer Friendly - Translate

Subject: RE: Songs/Poems of Joe Wilson
From: *#1 PEASANT*
Date: 20 May 17 - 09:06 AM


TEUN-"The Whole Hog or None."

FAREWEEL, maw kind Newcassel frinds, aw's gannin far away,
Aw's gan te leeve the canny toon, an' prood am aw te say
Aw've myed me fortun i' the hoose where ye've spent meny a neet,
Aw's gan te turn professor an' a teacher tee complete.


Bruther fiddlers a', like me, rnyek lots 0' money,
Aw's gannin doon te Sheels,
Te teach an' play cudreels,
An' aw'll let them see the tallint thor cums frae the canny toon.

Fareweel, maw country patrons, for ne mair ye'll hear us play
"0, Nanny, wilt thou gan wi' me?" wi' canny" Auld Robin Gray;"
Ne mair ye'll hear the "BIue Bells" soond, that often pleased ye weel,
Or imadgin that i' "Com Rigs" hoo delighted ye wad feel.

Fareweel, maw cat-gutscrapin frinds, awhevint time te stay,
As the minnits are departin fast, play seconds while ye may;
Ye'l! miss yor leader, lang wi' me yor tallents ye've display'd,
An' bonny teuns an' pleasin' soonds tiv eager ears convey'd.

Solos se high aw've often play'd an' charm'd ye wiv each note,
But if ye want te hear us still, cum doon i' train or boat,
An' there ye'll see the young foaks dance, as teacher aw'll appear,
An' fiddlin thraw me legs aboot like harlekinse queer.

Fareweel, me frinds, hoo sad awfeel te say the last gud-bye,
Hoo often when aw Ieeve ye ye'll imadgin that yor dry,
An' aw'll not be near te cheer ye wi' beer, an' jigs, an' reels;
But lads, aw'll often think 0' ye when aw gan doon te Sheels.

-Source: Joe Wilson, (author) Songs and Drolleries, 1890

Post - Top - Home - Printer Friendly - Translate

Subject: RE: Songs/Poems of Joe Wilson
From: *#1 PEASANT*
Date: 20 May 17 - 09:22 AM


TEUN- "The Pawnshop Bleezin."

I' THESE days hoo can poor foaks leeve?
Increasin popilayshun
Myeks hundrids wundar where they'll get
A humble habitayshun;
They nivvor build for poor foaks noo,
Withoot the rent's a reglor screw;
Iv a' the wearyj obs aw knaw,
The greatest plague amang them a'
Is seekin for a hoose, man.

War Peg an' me, one mornin' seun,
Te better war condishun,
Set off,wi' spirits high wi' hope,
Upon this expedishun.
Iv a' the windows, Peg, maw pet,
Teuk ivry paper for a "Let":
Byeth "Ginger Pop" an' "Home-made Breed"
Wes all as one-she cuddent read,
When seekin for a hoose, man.

Says one, "Ye'd better call agyen!
Ye'd better see the maister !"
So throo the street, till he arrived,
Content we had te slaister ;
He stared at us when he earn in,
Says he, "Are ye byeth clear 0' sin,
If so, aw'll gie ye the forst chance
Wi' pay'n a fortneet in advance! "
Says aw, "Huts, keep yor hoose, man!"

"Excuse us, wor not clean'd up yit!"
Says one fat wummin tiv us,
"Aw've got a splendid room te let
Up stairs, so cum up wiv us!".
She teuk us up the stairs se high,
'Twes a real "garret near the sky,"
"The rent's five shillins here a week,"
She said, an' snuff'd an' blew her beak;
Says aw, "It's not wor hoose, then!"

Anuther axt if we had bairns,
Says aw, "We've had iIliven,
But sad te say, thor's fower deed,
An' noo thor's only siven!"
Says she, "We'll not heh children here!"
Says aw, "Yor sum aud maid, aw fear,
Aw wundor whe on orth got ye?
Where did ye spend yor infancy?
Ye'll gie the bairns ne hoose, then!"

Sum places ye mun gan in seun,
An' not stop oot at neet, man,
In uthers ye dor hardly speak,
Ye cannet de owt reet, man;
For little rooms rents high 'ill be,
Withoot a back-yard fit te see;
We've trail'd aboot for mony a day,
But cannet get for luv or pay,
A decent sort ov hoose, man.

-Source: Joe Wilson, (author) Songs and Drolleries, 1890

Post - Top - Home - Printer Friendly - Translate

Subject: RE: Songs/Poems of Joe Wilson
From: *#1 PEASANT*
Date: 20 May 17 - 12:53 PM


TEUN-"Miller of tke Dee."

"MIND waken us up at five o'clock,
For aw munnet miss the train,
Aw'm not used wi' gettin up se seun!"
Says Jack tiv his gudwife Jane.
"It starts at six, so let's off te bed,
For we hevint se lang te sleep;
So waken us, Jane, te catch the train,
Tho aw snore byeth lood an' deep,
An' aw'm ivor se soond asleep! "

They got inte bed an' seun fell asleep,
Where Jack quite injoyed his dreams,
Till a scratchfrae her big toe-nailmyed him jump"
It's half-past five! " she screams.
He struck a match te luck at the clock;
"It issent se late!-aw knew
It wassent owt like half-past five,
For it's only half-past two,
An' yor puttin us all iv a stew! "

Jack grummil'd as he got inte bed,
But seun fell asleep agyen;
At half-past three anuther greet kick
Showed Jane waddent let him alyen.
He cursed an' swore when he saw the time,
An' he held the leet te show,
But the only answer that he got,
Wes "John, ye've upset the po,
And you know that you shouldn't do so."

At fower dclock Jack wakened he'sel,
But his wife lay fast asleep; Says he,
"Then aw may as weel sit up;
Wi' me pipe, aw'll waken keep!"
At half-past ite she jumpt oot 0' bed,
When she had gud cawse te stare,
For there Jack sat, iv his Sunday's claes,
Fast asleep i' the aud airm-chair,
Catchin trains iv his dreams sleepin there.

-Source: Joe Wilson, (author) Songs and Drolleries, 1890

Post - Top - Home - Printer Friendly - Translate

Subject: RE: Songs/Poems of Joe Wilson
From: *#1 PEASANT*
Date: 20 May 17 - 01:10 PM


TEUN-" The Coal Hole"

IF deed foaks com te life agyen,
Hoo funny it wad be, man;
They'd rub thor eyes wi' greet surprise
Te see what we can see, man.
Grainger wad hardly knaw the toon,
Wi' buildin up an' pullin doon:
A palace they myek ivry ruin,
They astonish live foaks, tee, man.


Fal-the-dal-lal, the lal-the day,
Hoo funny it wad be, man,
If deed foaks com te life agyen,
Te see what we can see, man.

Geordey Stephenson, the ingineer,
Wad heh gud cawse for wundor,
Te see the railroads far an' near,
Abuv the grund an' under;
Earl Grey wad luck up te the sky,
Te see his moniment se high,
Thor gan te shift it by-an-by,
He wad say, "What next, aw wundor?"

Sum wad find falt wi' a' they saw,
An' try wi' spite te raise us,
An' tell us that wor a' se fast,
They'd seun meet us in blazes!
While uthers wad be glad te see
A workin man dim up the tree,
Like Burt, the pitmen myed M.P.,
An' disarvin wor greet praises.

Bob Chambers an' Jim Renforth tee.
Wad ask us war we beatin ?
Had Cockneys gain'd all victory
Throo just one man defeatin ?
Renforth wad say, "Is Tyneside men
Te let Joe Sadler rest alyen?
It's time aw wes alive agyen,
If ye cannet find a reet un !"

But sum wad better be away,
Such as a chep just barried,
He waddent like te cum an' see
His bloomin widow married;
He waddent like te see the kiss
Ov second-hand connubial bliss,
He waddent like a scene like this,
Ay, an' him just lately barried.

If deed foaks com te life agyen,
Thor'd be an awful mixtor,
Thor'd be ne room te had them a',
We'd a' be fairly fixt; for
We'd nearly a' relations be.
We cuddent tell owt whe wes whe,
Thor'd seun be blud an' murder tee,
An' we'd myek them cut thor sticks, sor,

-Source: Joe Wilson, (author) Songs and Drolleries, 1890

Post - Top - Home - Printer Friendly - Translate

Subject: RE: Songs/Poems of Joe Wilson
From: *#1 PEASANT*
Date: 20 May 17 - 01:25 PM


TEUN-" Pat Mulloy."

Iv a' the torments i' the world,
A neybor's warse then a',
That borrows things frae day te day,
An' dissent care a straw
Whether ye get them back or not,
If it just pleases them;
Thor not aflaid te ask for mair,
They nivvor knaw ne shem.
We've got a neybor 0' this kind,
She'll cum an' borrow cIaes,
Or pots, or pans, an' kettles, an'
She'll keep the syem for days.
If we invite a frind te dine,
We hardly get a smell,
Till in she cums te borrow this
Or that, dis Neybor Nell.

Me dowter hes a nice young man,
An' seun they'll married be,
So often he cums te the hoose
Te hey a cup 0' tea;
He's always se polite an' prim,
Relidgis iv his ways,
Porticklor what he sees or hears,
An' careful what he says;
But still worneybor dissent care,
Shud he be oot or in,
She'll cum an' beg three-happence, te
Get half-a-glass 0' gin;
Aw've seen him quite disgusted like,
His brou's byeth rose an' fell,
Te hear the neybor, " Len us this,
Or that!" frae Neybor Nell.

One day we'd all got sittin doon,
As use-yil te wor tea,
When in cums Neybor Nell quite bowld,
An' brasen'd as cud be ;
Says she, "Excuse me cumrmin in,
Sum cumpany aw've got,
Thor wimmin foaks;-aw'd be obliged
Ifye'd len us the pot !
She haddent time te say which pot
It wes she wanted, till
Up jumpt me dowter's sweetheart, an'
The tea things myed a spill;
Me dowter blush'd, her young man froon'd,
Aw felt greet shem me-sel,
An' wish'd aw had ne neybor like
That torment, Neybor Nell.

-Source: Joe Wilson, (author) Songs and Drolleries, 1890

Post - Top - Home - Printer Friendly - Translate

Subject: RE: Songs/Poems of Joe Wilson
From: *#1 PEASANT*
Date: 20 May 17 - 01:43 PM


TEUN-"He's gyen te be a Bobby."

Aw'M really quite unsartin
0' which luver aw shud choose,
For aw cannet nyem me choice yit,
An' aw dorsent one refuse;
But wi' sum evasive answer
Put them off frae day te day,
For aw cannet tell me fancy,
Thor's se mony in me way.


For thor's Tommy, an' thor's Billy,
Nearly drive a young lass silly,
They really cum se freely
Wi' thor offers iv'ry day;
An' thor's Charley, Joe, an' Harry,
Always wantin me te marry,
What myeks us tarry,
l' this daft unsartin way?

Thor's Tommy, tall an' sprightly,
An' as handsome as can be,
A myest weel-te-de pawnbroker,
An' he's pledged his luv te me;
Then thor's Billy,-that's the sailor,
He wants me te be his mate,
He wad plough the salt sea ocean,
Te be in the United State.

Then thor's Charley, he's a sowljor,
But aw cannet list te him,
Thowts 0' war an' his bright medals
l' me eyes grow varry dim;
An' thor's Joe, the portrait-tyeker,
Built in such a slender frame,
Aw'll give te him a negative,
Hopin that may quench his flame.

Then sumtimes aw fancy Harry,
Roo it is aw cannet tell :
He's a draper,-quite the dandy,
But aw divvent like a swell;
What wi' one, an' wi' the tuther,
Aw can nivvor find delight,
Till aw meet sum happy fellow,
Wi' the nyem 0' Mister Right !

-Source: Joe Wilson, (author) Songs and Drolleries, 1890

Post - Top - Home - Printer Friendly - Translate

Subject: RE: Songs/Poems of Joe Wilson
From: *#1 PEASANT*
Date: 20 May 17 - 03:22 PM



IN Mosley Street, i' the eer ite-teen,
Gas lamps wes for the forst time seen.
Lally, the boat-rower, strang an'soond,
l' sivinty-fower, at Blyth, wes droon'd.


Cowen an' Hamond, at last at ease,
l' sivinty-fower, wes myed M.P.'s.
Burt, for Morpeth, teuk things quiet,
l' Durham thor wes nowt but riot.


l' fifty-fower, aud "Beeswing" deed,
She wassent a horse, but had mare speed.
l' sivinty-three, quite lost te hope,
Mary Ann Cotton wes join'd te rope.


I' forty-fower, wi' minds alike,
The Pitmen had thor famous Strike.
I'one bonny neet, i' fifty-nine,
Chambers beat White on the Coaly Tyne


l' thorty-six a' the bairns wes fear'd,
When the Bobbies forst i' blue appear'd.
Kelly beat Chambers, i' sixty-sivin,
When Bob wes pullin fast te hivvin.


I' sixty-ire, Bob Chambers deed,
Deeth beat him wiv untimely speed.
The High Level Bridge, i' forty-nine,
Wes myed complete across the Tyne.


l' sixty-one, iv a deedly swoon,
Grainger bid gud-bye te the toon.
Harry Clasper, wi' mony a sob,
l' sivinty, folIow'd his aud frind Bob.


On the Toon Moor, thousands went te see
Mark Sherwood hung, i' forty-three;
Ned Corvan wi' fun kept foaks alive,
But he dee'd he'sel, i' sixty-five.


Dan O'Connell, ov greet renoon,
l' thorty-five, com te wor toon.
I' thorty-ite, te save life, se brave,
Grace Darling dared the tretch'rous wave.


The moniment that we se often view,
TeStephenson, finish'd i' sixty-two.
Mark Frater got his fatal mark
l' sixty-one, 'twes a point frae Clark.


co Jemmy Allan's" pipes wes short
0' breeth l'ten, they had ne chance wi' deeth.
l' forty-one, an eventful mom,
Me bruther Tom an' me wes born.


The steamer" Lifeguard," i' sixty-three,
Wi' all on board wes lest at sea.
l' fifty-three, Billy Purvis, eloon,
I' rest his queer aud heed laid doon.

-Source: Joe Wilson, (author) Songs and Drolleries, 1890

Post - Top - Home - Printer Friendly - Translate

Subject: RE: Songs/Poems of Joe Wilson
From: *#1 PEASANT*
Date: 20 May 17 - 05:20 PM


ON March the tenth, in forty-six,
Bill Cleghorn had te fight
Wi' Michael Riley, on Blyth Links,
For fifty at catch-wight.

Mick's bruther, Barney, thrice had dreamt
That he wad konker'd be,
That Cleghorn's blows wad fatal prove,
Throo which poor Mick wad dee.

An' Barney sair wes put aboot,
For superstishus, he
Believed in dreams, an' fear'd the end
Ov this, his warnins three,

He tried te myek his bruther give
The forfeit up te Bill,
But Mick replied, "Wor gawn te fight,
We are not match'd te killl"

"Then Barney, cum, an' see me lick
The champein 0' Tyneside,
Aw'll win the fight withoot a mark,
See hoo aw'll tan his hide!"

" It's not the likes 0' Cleghorn that
Can tyek a Riley doon;
So nivvor mind yor feulish dreams, .
Aw'm best man i' the toonl"

The mornin com, an' hundrids there,
Te see the battle, cheer'd,
When two such men 0' fistic fame,
Stript te the buff, appear'd.

Bill Cleghorn stud byeth firm an' calm,
True confidence display'd;
An' Riley's smiles an' boondless chaff
Show'd he wes not aflaid.

For two lang oors 'twes give an' tyek,
Wi' strite an' heavy blows,
That fell upon the ribs an' fyece,
The cheeks, the eyes, an' nose.

Then Riley fund his easy job
Wes noo nowt like a joke,
Wi' jeers an' puttin oot his tung
He tried Bill te provoke.

But Cleghorn nivvor off his guard,
Watch'd Riley's tung cum throo,
Then struck him fiercely on the chin,
An' chopt it clean in two.

The fight wes ended.-Cleghorn wun.
Next mornin Mick wes deed,
An'there he lay a batter'd corpse,
Wi' Barney at his heed.

Poor Barney's dream com ower true, Said he,
"Aw'm not te blame,
Aw warn'd him, but aw'm glad te knaw
Me brother Mick died game!

An' this wes i' the gud aud days,
When men wad proodly sing,
An' lift thor voices high an' praise
The heroes ov the ring.

But tho the ring's for iver deun,
I' these new-fashun'd days,
Thor's murder always in the air,
In lots 0' different ways.

-Source: Joe Wilson, (author) Songs and Drolleries, 1890

Post - Top - Home - Printer Friendly - Translate

Subject: RE: Songs/Poems of Joe Wilson
From: *#1 PEASANT*
Date: 20 May 17 - 05:28 PM


TEUN-"'John Anderson, my Jo."

Aw meant te buy a chist 0' drawers,
Besides a silver watch;
A sofa grand, te mense the hoose,
Wi' bonny chairs te match;
Besides a new leet suit 0' claes,
Te swagger i' the sun,
Aw'd been new te the very beuts,
If Spennithorne had wun.

Aw meant te buy me wife a dress,
Ov silk the varry best,
She'd been like a fat lanlady,
The way aw'd had her drest;
We meant te lodge at Tinmuth till
The money wes a' deun ;
An' promenade the Sands each day,
If Spennithorne had wun.

But Spennithorne wes nearly last,
An' Lily Agnes wun,
The cheers 0' winners diddent soond
Te me like ony fun;
Aw cannet tell hoo aw got hyem,
The moor aboot us spun,
Aw started wark next day, an' sigh'd-sIf
Spennithorne had wun !

-Source: Joe Wilson, (author) Songs and Drolleries, 1890

Post - Top - Home - Printer Friendly - Translate

Subject: RE: Songs/Poems of Joe Wilson
From: *#1 PEASANT*
Date: 20 May 17 - 05:45 PM


TEUN-"The Pawnshop Bleezin."

WOR Geordey, just the tuther day,
Wes walkin up an' doon, man,
An' what amused him myest ova'
Wes bills stuck roond the toon, man,
Advisin foaks te gan an' see
These Twins they call the Syimeese;
He's read thor hist'ry iv a beuk,
An' swears that wundor nivvor struck
Rim half se much afore, man.

He says this freak 0' nator is
Thor join'd se fast tegither,
Wiv a lump 0' grissel hard an' tight,
Thor siporashun's nivor;
They call one Bob, the tuther Jim,
An' Jim's like Bob, an' Bob's like him,
An' if one wants te stop at hyem,
The tuther hes te de the syem,
He cannot de owt else, man.

He says when young, that Bob wes wild,
An' liked te hey his glasses,
An' led a kind 0' rakish life
Amang a' kinds 0' lasses;
But Jim, he waddint hed at a',
He said te Bob,
"Aw'lliet ye knaw
If ye want te lead this life, me lad,
Ye can gan yor-sel, aw'll not be had,
Aw'll brik the string that ties us."

But Geordey says he dursent did,
For fear he hurt he'sel, man,
Since then thor kind a settled doon,
For on thor life's a spell, man;
Shud they fall oot an'hev a fight,
Thor's neethor hes the best 0' wight,
An' if they russel, byeth gan doon,
An' when they hit the blaw reboons,
The striker feels the blaw, man.

He says thor married an' got bairns,
He wunders hoo it's deun, man,
But i' this world thor's things se queer,
Sum reckind nowt but fun, man !
An' if Bob wants te say his prayers,
An' Jimmy wants te gan doonstairs,
Bob hes te wait till Jim gets deun,
An' if Jim's gan te kiss his sun,
Bob hes te boo his heed, man.

But gox! hoo funny it wad be,
The time that they war kortin,
For if the lass fell oot wi' Jim,
Bob's feelings she'd be hurtin,
An' if he whisper'd iv her ear,
The tuther one was sure te hear;
An' when Bob tyeks an openin dose,
It fissicks Jimmy aw suppose,
An' that's a reglor maser!

If Jim shud fancy gawn asleep,
Bob hes te gan wi' him, man,
An' if Bob fancies gannin 'oot,
He hes te gan wi' Jim, man ;
Where Bob is Jimmy hes te be,
Sumtimes ye'd think it issent spree,
But what one dis his mate mun de,
Iv a' the seets the world can see,
This is the biggest cawshun!

-Source: Joe Wilson, (author) Songs and Drolleries, 1890

Post - Top - Home - Printer Friendly - Translate

Subject: RE: Songs/Poems of Joe Wilson
From: *#1 PEASANT*
Date: 21 May 17 - 01:11 PM


JACKHARDY was as fine a lad
As ivor ye cud see,
The reglor pictor ov his dad,
His muther once tell'd me,
As cute a lad, as sharp a lad,
As ye'll meet iv a day,
A lad that teuk care ov his brass,
An' threw nyen on't away.

At the age 0' fower-an'-twenty
He gat wark i' the toon,
As lodjins he wes forced te tyek,
He teuk a little room
Frev a canny quiet widow, an'
Her dowter, just he-teen,
An' wes settled like a lanlord,
Wi' greet cumfort,-a' soreen.

N00, the dowter kind a fancied
That here might be a chance
For a gud-man real gud-luckin;
She tried each winnin glance
That she thowt was fascinaytin,
But not one 0' them wad de,
For Jack had diff'rint noshuns
As te whe his wife shud be.

Throo the day, Jack always thinkin,
Throo the neet, iv ivry dream,
Thor wes only one idea,
An' strange as it may seem,
Jack he'sel had quite porswayded,
An' wi' quite a settled mind,
IV a' the wimmin he had seen
The widow wes myest kind.

He nivvor dreamt her dowtor luv'd
Or thowt ov him at a'j
'Twad been all the syem thing if he had,
For cutely, yemun knaw,
He'd reckund up the furnitor,
Se neat, se gud, se trim,
An' thowt a hoose se weel set up
Wes just the thing for him!

Tho cawshusly, he seun begun
Te koort the widow there,
An' smoked, an' joked, an' tawk'd away
Iv her late man's easy chair.
He fairly wun her hoose an' luv,
An' married seun war they;
Tho young enuff te be her son,
They'd many a happy day.

"Revenge is sweet!" sumbody says,
An' so the dowter thowt,
For tho Jack nivvor knew her luv,
She thowt he did, or owt ;
An' a' his dinners that she keuck't
She teuk gud care te spoil:
Wi' fire nearly always oot,
The pot wad nivvor boil.

Things went on this way days an' weeks
Till Jack's mate, Harry Hills,
Proposed te be his son-in-law,
One neet across thor gills.
The dowter got him-s-noo her lot's
Te wait upon a man
That always pledges her his luv
When he puts his claes i' pawn.

He likes his beer, dis Harry Hills,
His unkil knaws that tee,
For Harry's coat he often get's
Te help te raise a spree;
While lucky Jack sticks tiv his wife,
A happy couple,-they
Set a pattern te the young uns,
Workin hard frae day te day!"

-Source: Joe Wilson, (author) Songs and Drolleries, 1890

Post - Top - Home - Printer Friendly - Translate

Subject: RE: Songs/Poems of Joe Wilson
From: *#1 PEASANT*
Date: 21 May 17 - 01:33 PM


Aw thowt aw cud paint a pictor,
Aw did, upon me word,
So aw bowt a penny box 0' paints,
Just what aw cud afford,
An' then aw wundor'd what aw'd try,
A man, a beast, or bird.

Aw mind aw luckt i' mony a shop,
Transparent slates aw saw,
An' wish'd that aw cud buy a one,
For then aw'd lairn te draw;
But money often myeks a man,
An' that ov korse ye'll knaw.

So aw had te myek me-sel content
Wi' nowt but what aw had;
Aw struggled hard an' did me best,
Like mony a poor lad,
An' wor foaks had the narve te say
It wassent te call bad.

Aw thowt aw wad tyek a portrait,
So aw got me bruther Ned
Te sit before us mony a neet
When we shud been i' bed,
Aw thowt them wes the happiest oors
Two young uns ivor led.

Aw myed his nose a' kinds 0' shapes,
His eyes aw myed them squint,
His cheek, throo maw artistic skill,
Had monya dimple in't,
An' wiv a bright rose-pink aw goh
Them such a bonny tint.

But not a sowl alive cud see
A bit 0' likeness there,
Tho sum te please us myed us think
'Twas really varry fair,
For they wad say 'twas just like Ned,
Se reed aboot the hair!

But still aw thowt aw'd deun se weel,
Aw'd heva try agyen,
For if a gud job's once begun,
Te let it once alyen,
Wad ruin the best 0' clivor skemes,
An' best 0' clivor men.

So on went aw,-an' on went Time,
Wi' nowt else i' me heed,
But tyekin foaks's likenesses,
Till aw stud hard i' need
0' what aw cuddent de without,
That's Life's supporter, Breed!

Iv a booth at fair or hoppin,
Wi' black paper aw wad myek
Sum figgor for the silly feuls,
Se daft such like te tyek,
But feuIs mun often help us, lads,
Or where's war daily kyeck?

At last a fottygraff masheen,
Like Ieetnin i' the skies,
Com dazzlin one day te me seet,
An' fill'd us wi' surprise;
Be luck aw got one oat on tick:
The man that ticks is wise!

But Fortun always wi' the brave
'Ill not a comrade be,
Aw cuddent tyek a pictor wid,
One ivor fit te see;
Aw laid me heed upon me hand,
An' wish'd that aw cud dee.

At last a thowt flew throo me brain,
An' myed us once mair stir,
Ideas hoo te lairn the trade
Had not struck me before,
Aw'd try an' get a job te stand
At sum fottygraffer's door!

Aw did; an' noo ye'll see me nyem's
Upon a decent van,
At races, ony place where sport
Brings money is me plan;
It's puff, an' cheek, an' impittence
Myeks mony a bissniss man.

Frae sixpence up te ite-teen-pence,
Aw'll tyek ye weel on glass,
An' cairds, six bob a duzzin,
That nebody can surpass,
Aw'lI myek gud-luckin ony fyece,
Man, wummin, lad, or lass!

-Source: Joe Wilson, (author) Songs and Drolleries, 1890

Post - Top - Home - Printer Friendly - Translate

Subject: RE: Songs/Poems of Joe Wilson
From: *#1 PEASANT*
Date: 21 May 17 - 01:53 PM


IT wes a splendid seet-when aw sat like a king at the heed 0' the King's Meadows amang a living mass
0' live foaks-me heart lowpt wiv excitement inside me new waistkit-but a' passin clood put us i' mind
0' the umberella that aw had borrow'd frae Bob Robson the time-gun boom'd throo the air, an' shoots
frae the stentorian lungs 0' the multitude drew me atfenshun te the noble forms 0' the champeins as
they war seen imbarkin, wi' the most magnanymus anniemosity rewards each uther, te dare the dangers
0' the tretcherous deep-it wes high tide, ye knaw-thor off!-thor cummin ! -thor wes a roar 0' voices an'
the river Sim-an' -Teasdale- Wilsonusly-aw ron up the Meadows wi' speed like JimPercy-aw's not
as lang as Ted Mills, but aw felt aw turned WHITE for all aw's a Bright-un-Chambors! aw shoots-aw
luckt at the men, heedless where aw wes runnin te, when all iv a suddint aw fell ower the Meadows-
it wes a momentus moment for me-aw struggled te get ashore-fearful retlecshuns struck us when aw
rickollected that aw nivvor had got ony lessons frae Professor Walker-for aw cuddent swim withoot
it wes doonwards-foaks say droonin men catch at straws, but thor wes ne straws, so aw clutched the
grass i' me desperayshun-me hand slipt-pairt 0' the grass wes clay-aw fell doon agyen, leets danced
afore me eyes, fearful noises rung i' me ears-nebody can imadgin the aw-ful sensayshun aw felt when
maw editorial heed wes under wetter-aw cud neither float or swim-so aw lay doon at the
'bottom till it wes law tide so as aw cud 'wawk oot!-aw dinnet knaw hoo aw got hyem-aw cuddent
reckollect owt mair-for aw've been insensible ivor since.-Yor Unlucky Frind,


-Source: Joe Wilson, (author) Songs and Drolleries, 1890

Post - Top - Home - Printer Friendly - Translate

Subject: RE: Songs/Poems of Joe Wilson
From: *#1 PEASANT*
Date: 21 May 17 - 02:49 PM


Written On the victorious career ov Jimmy Taylor, the seiabrated boat-puller, efter
the monny aifeats if his game but Unlucky bruthers.

T IME'S browr a greet change that aw's happy te see,
A w's prood that the change is se gladsome te ye,
Y e've proov'd ye can stay, tho yor bruthers tried hard,
L ossin each race tho they wun greet regard;
O v a' yor game bruthers thor's nyen like yor-sel,
R ow on, canny lad, may ye ivor excel!

-Source: Joe Wilson, (author) Songs and Drolleries, 1890

Post - Top - Home - Printer Friendly - Translate

Subject: RE: Songs/Poems of Joe Wilson
From: *#1 PEASANT*
Date: 21 May 17 - 04:16 PM


FAREWEEL the days when Lundun lads as Champions nobly shone,
Defiant te the wide wide world, the bonny Thames thor throne,
For noo Tyne lads beet us complete, wor chance wi them's but sma'!
Oh! sad's me heart, whe'd ivor thowt te see us browt se law.


Oh I dear oh! thor'snyen like Chambers, oh!
De a' we can we hevent a man
Te lick Bob Chambers, oh !

Fareweel the days when Lundun boats wes the finest that wes made,
But Harry Clasper, frae Tyneside, seun put wor's i' the shade;
He myeks his boats se leet an' neet, brings oot sic forstclass men,
He licks war builders, rowers te,-wor Lundun glory's gyen.

Fareweel the days when Robert Coombes rowed fleetly ower the tide,
The swiftest champion ivor knawn, the Cocknies' boast an' pride,
For gox, he'd had but little squeek, if he'd leeved this day te see,
For if Coombes cud myek his fine skiff run, Bob Chambers myeks his flee.

Fareweel the days when Lundun crews pull'd the winnin boat se fast
When i' skiffs, an' pairs, an' fower-oars we cuddint be sorpass'd,
But noo we might as weel not pull at the grand regretta here,
For Tyneside lads cum here an' win the prizes ivry eer.

Fareweel the days when Lundun lads victorious cud compete,
When strangers nivvor thowt te trywarchampions te defeat,
But noo Bob Cooper's put it on-ye'll knaw wi' we aw mean;
An' te pull the greet Bob Chambers the Australian mun be GREEN.

Fareweel the days, them happy days, When the world we cud defy,
We've struggl'd hard te keep war nyem, but noo think shem te try,
For Everson, Kelley, White, and Green, te Chambers did givein,
Bell's Life may puff an' praise them up, but it cannet myek them win.

Fareweel, fareweel them gud aud days, we'll see thor like ne mair,
For then ne men like Chambers pull'd, nyen cud wi' him compare;
Still Lundun men are gud as then,-resentful thowts decline,
For weel we knaw, say what we will, the BEST MEN'S on the Tyne.

-Source: Joe Wilson, (author) Songs and Drolleries, 1890

Post - Top - Home - Printer Friendly - Translate

Subject: RE: Songs/Poems of Joe Wilson
From: *#1 PEASANT*
Date: 21 May 17 - 04:36 PM


Tke Match Struck.-Efter Cooper lickt Everson at Lundun, his backers wanted te match him agyen ony steamboat on the
river, bar the Dredger, but they cuddent get on; so they tried a steam ingin, that wes Bob Chambers. The challinge wes
accepted. A meetin wes held i' the Sun, an' the room wes chock full. Harry Clasper's health wes drunk, but it behaved
itse! varry weel. Thor wes a vast 0' chaff aboot pownies and munkies-ye mun understand that a powny's nowt like a cuddy-
apowny's 25.Pund, an' a munky's 500 soverins.-(Me grandmuther says she wad rethur hev a munky i' the hoose then a
powny ony day.)-Cooper wanted te be stakehadder he'sel, but Chambers thowt he had mair reet te haud the Queen's
Heeds wi' hevin the Kings Heed at St. Anthony's, but that wes a' Walker.

Airtickils ov Agreement.-Bob Chambers, te try speed an' style, agrees te pull Cooper a mile-a full hour before it's high
tide-for one hundred sovrins aside-on Tuesday, sum day i' July, the date aw've forgot, but it's nigh-the Chronicle gaffer
te haud the deposits that's myed biv each lad-gate money te be divided, refforee not te be one-sided-the stakes te
gan wiv his disishun. So lads, get yor-sels j' condishun-an' mark ye, thor's not te be foolin, for that's agyen a' wor boat
rulln--the race te be rowed onTyne wetter, an' the seuner it's ower the better-Bob Chambers then put doon his nyem,
an' Cooper as weel did the syem-then aw bid them gud neet te gan hyem-an' for fear that aw'd mebbies get rang,
aw went hyem wi' me mate, Geordy Strange

Wor Peg's Ideas aboot it.

WOR PEG says it wad be a vast better if boat-rowers wes te pull wi' thor heeds turn'd the tuther way, so as they cud
see where thor gannin te.

Conversayshun at Blakey's Corner-the Neet afore the Race

JORN SPENCER-" Gentlemen, aw'Jl bet ony gentleman a bob that Bob beats Bob! "

ADAMSCOTT-"Deun! aw'Jl bet ye a pint!"

JOHN SPENCER-" Deun! but we may as weel hed noo! heh ye tuppence?

ADAMSCOTT-"No, aw've just threehappence, but aw'll cadge a meg ov Toby Walker, so let's away te Mackey's! "

-Source: Joe Wilson, (author) Songs and Drolleries, 1890

Post - Top - Home - Printer Friendly - Translate

Subject: RE: Songs/Poems of Joe Wilson
From: *#1 PEASANT*
Date: 21 May 17 - 07:52 PM


For the Championshionship 0' the Tyne an' £400, Sept. 5 and 6, 1864.

TRUN- "The Hairr," or" Hop Light Loo."

THE aud bridge groan'd as tho it thowt
Its end wes noo drawn near;
The level creakt and squeakt beneath
The weight it had te beer;
The steamers rowld frae side te side,
An' ivry boat wes full,
When Chambers, ov aquatic fame,
An' Cooper had te pull.


Pull, lads, pull! like leetnin wi' the tide!
Pull, lads, pull! the victry te decide!
Pull, lads, pull !-Iet pluck an' skill combine
Te show the world thor's nyen can touch
The Champion 0' the Tyne!

Ne fear 0' cheat or false defeat
Wes iv a breest that day,
For spite wad myek them pull for fairs
An' anxshus for the fray;
The river, like a heavy sea,
Myed ivry beetin heart
Quake when they saw sic fearless men
Pull. near the bridge te start.

Thor off! gud grashus what a shoot
Wes sent frae shore te shore,
The time-gun i' the Cassel Garth
Cud nivor cawse sic stir,
For like two swift locomotives
Byeth try te gain the lead,
Wi' quickind spurt, 'mid roarin cheers
Bob Chambers gans a-heed.

The champion wi' masheen-like stroke
Dash'd bravely throo the spray,
While Cooper, game as man cud be,
Tried hard te win the day,
When Chambers, throo the warst 0' luck,
Ran foul agyen two keels,
But full 0' steam-he's affagyen,
An' close at Cooper's heels.

Thor level noo,-but throo the storm
Grim danger claim'd the race,
For efter byeth the men had fould
A fearful scene teuk place,
Bob Chambers' boat wes sinkin fast,
The race that day wes deun,
Then foaks begun wi' clattrin tung
To argie byeth had wun.

The next day wi' the tide still ruff,
They had thor second spin,
Frae start te finish Chambers led,
The better man te win,
An' proov'd thor's not a man alive,
That can wi' him contend;
But speak weel 0' the lossin man,
May gud luck byeth attend.

The race that had for weeks an' munths
Excited mony a breest
Wes past-an' ivrybody's mind
Seem'd frev a load releest;
Ne men like these had ivor pull'd,
Let Tyneside glory shine,
An' lang may champions
0' the world Spring frae the coally Tyne.

Wor Geordey says he's glad he wes on the bridge at the race, for thor wes
a deed heet at the start, an' he dissent think they war ivor see close eftor't.
What a cawshun Geordey is, aw say.

-Source: Joe Wilson, (author) Songs and Drolleries, 1890

Post - Top - Home - Printer Friendly - Translate

Subject: RTEMPERANCE SONGS, REAE: Songs/Poems of Joe Wilson
From: *#1 PEASANT*
Date: 21 May 17 - 08:37 PM



"WHAT a nice young chep Jack Harley is ! " the neybors a' wad say,
As, clean an' neat, he left the hoose te gan te wark each day;
An' a cheerful smile lit up his fyece whenivor he luckt back,
An' nodded tiv his canny wife an' little bairn, young Jack.
An' the little fellow nodded tee, an' shooted-" Da, ta! ta!"
It myed Jack turn an' smile agyen at this sweet scene he saw.
An' he often thowt an' said he was the happiest 0' men,
An' happier felt, when wark wes deun, te be at hyem agyen.
Ivrything went on first-rate, an' Jack had little care,
Except attendin te the wants not often wanted there;
For Bessy wes a careful wife, an' easy myed ends meet:
In fact, ye cuddentfind a happier couple i' the street.
But Time browt changes te the hoose that there shud nivvor been,
An' cast a clood that nivvor yit wes lifted frae the scene:
For Jack got mates-an idle lot-that wassent fit for him,
An' filled his once bright, happy cup wi' mis'ry te the brim.
Then Jack's free disposition always myed him easy prey
Te fellows wi' the gift 0' tung, that often hes the way
Te myek ye think they like ye weel-that they're yor truest frinds ;
Weel up iv a' kinds 0' deceit, te sarve thor selfish ends,
So Jack wes seun perswayded te join them iv a spree.
Next mornin' when he wakened up, as bad as he cud be,
They teuk him te the public-hoose where they had been before,
An' when they fund thor money gyen they started" tick" te score.
Thor wark neglected, there they sat, an' kept it up for days,
Wi' the drink they raised wi' spungin an' a' such dirty ways,
Till Jack wes just as bad as them, an' fairly lost te shem,
Except when, wiva moment's pain, his mind wad wander hyern.
An' when he tried te gan away,his tempters kept him back
Frae the canny wife se true te him an' canny little Jack.
So days went on like this till Jack nowt but a drunkard turn'd:
He hated wark as he luved drink-his throat for iver burn'd
For drink-s-ay, drink, that fearful curse, had fallen upon him,
An' filled his once bright, happy cup wi' mis'ry te the brim.
One neet, his wife went on her knees, an' prayed that he wad stop,
Ay, if he'd only stop at hyem, she'd fetch him in a drop.
"If he wad only stop at hyem," she uttered wiv a sigh, "
She'd try te myek him happy, as she'd deun i' days gyen by; .
She'd cool his broo wi' wetted cloths, an' rest wad bring him roond;
A few days wad myek him better !"-an' her voice had that sweet soond,
That Jack once halted at the door, an' said-" Lass, nivvor fear !
Aw'llmyek this spree me varry last; an' when aw'm off the beer,
Aw'll gan te wark : aw'll get a job at owt if war trade's slack.
Yor seedy noo-ye want sum claes, an' so dis little Jack! "
He kissed her as he left the hoose; she smiled an' said, "Cum seun"!
She knew hoo happy they cud be if once his spree was deun.
That neet she waited lang, as she had often deun before,
An' listened te the footsteps that kept passin' bythe door;
An' little Jack laffed iv his dreams, as if he had ne care;
An' Bessy turned quite sleepy-when a footstep on the stair
Myed her start up te showa leet. She heard him stagger noo
A heavy fall doonstairs-an' then, a groan that went clean throo
The heart 0' that poor list'ner ;-then a hurried rush 0' feet
Frae the neybors, as they flew te see the dreadful wark that neet.
Poor Bessy screamed, when Jack she saw, wi' blud upon his cheek.
"Maw canny man, where are ye hurt?" but Jack, he cuddent speak.
He fixed his eyes upon his wife in anguish and remorse,
For drink had browt ne life te him, but untimely deeth -its curse!

Post - Top - Home - Printer Friendly - Translate

Subject: RE: Songs/Poems of Joe Wilson
From: *#1 PEASANT*
Date: 21 May 17 - 11:57 PM


YOR prejudiced agyen the men
That winnet drink wi' ye ;
Ye call teetotal members mean
Ye've said the syem te me!
Can ye expect that they shud stand
A glass 0' beer for ye,
The varry thing that they detest?
No, no, that waddent de !

An' if they dinnet drink thor-sels,
They heh ne call te pay
For drink for ye, or ony one,
That's meant te gan that way.
Ye heh ne reet te call them mean,
An' noo aw'll tell ye hoo,
For 'twixt ye an' teetotal men,
Yor meanest 0' the two I

Is't. mean that they shud study hyem,
Its cumforts an' its peace ;
An' try te myek thor happiness
Frae day te day increase?
The time that drunkords fuddle on,
Wi' nowt fit te be seen;
Where is thor cumfort i' the hoose ?
Noo which de ye call mean?

The drunkord hes ne care for hyem,
He's selfish te the last;
As lang as he gets plenty beer,
His wife an' bairns may fast;
He's bloated out wi' drink se full,
At hyem thor starved an' lean;
He nivvor cares for hyem at a',
Noo which de ye call mean?

A sober man's his bairns' best frind;
Wiv all a fethur's pride,
He thinks ne palace like his awn,
His cosey fireside;
His wife an' fam'ly tyek a pride,
In keepin a' things clean;
Thor's plenty there-ne signs 0' want,
Noo which de ye call mean?

Is't him that's stiddy, kind an' true
Tiv a' that's i' the hoose ?
Or him that spunges, ticks, and sprees,
For nowt ov ony use?
Aw've shown ye what aw knaw's quite true,
Ye hey yor choice between,
Then speak the truth, ye've heerd us throo,
Noo which de ye call mean?

-Source: Joe Wilson, (author) Songs and Drolleries, 1890

Post - Top - Home - Printer Friendly - Translate

Subject: RE: Songs/Poems of Joe Wilson
From: *#1 PEASANT*
Date: 22 May 17 - 12:13 AM


"WHAT'S the next case?" said the magistrate; but he seemed te knaw, aw think,
It wad be like a' the uthers, throo the drink--the weary drink:
An' the disapated pris'nor luckt aroond an' hung hisheed,
An' he tried te shun the glances frae the curious eyes he see'd.
For 'twas Tom Breon's first appearance In this low, degradin scene,
An' he hoped an' wished 'twad be the last, him an' the grave between:
For not once iv a' his life-time had it ivor been his fate,
Before this morn, te stand afore the grim-like magistrate.
An' his blood-shot eyes they glistened when he thowt aboot his hyem,
An' he wundor'd hoo his wife an' bairns wad ivor bear the shem
That he'd browt se heavy on them, an' his heart beat quick an' fast,
As he murmured tiv he'sel, nigh chokin, "This shall be the last,
Ay, the last time that they'll witness such a scene 0' maw disgrace;
Ay, the last time that aw'Il hing me heed i' such a hated place!"
The magistrate spoke kindly, for he saw repentance there,
Then dismissed him wiv a cawshun, but he tell'd him te beware!
An' he gov him that bit gud advice te let the drink alyen,
An' he teIl'd him that he nivvor wished te see him there agyen.
Tom thenkt him in a manner that he cuddent then resist,
An' swore ne mair they'd see his nyem upon the drunkard's list;
An' his heart lowpt wiv a joy that they cuddent help but see,
For he felt, but in two different ways, that he once mair wes free
For in that awful moment, when he first appeared in court,
Te be the haze-gaze 0' the crood, his pride wes sairly hurt;
He had only then considered what had really browt him there,
What had been the cawse ova' his shem-the cawse ov his dispair.
In that first sober moment that he'd felt for mony days,
He knew thor wes but one te blame for his bad, feulish ways.
An' whe wes that one but he'sel he fund he cuddent say,
An' he swore te be teetotal frae that day-that varry day.
An' the heart wes noo uplifted that before had been cast doon,
An' he blist his resolution as he hurried throo the toon.
The drink his shopmates offered noo he firmly cast aside,
An' tiv a' thor greet temptayshuns he most steadily replied,
"Not a drop, not one! Aw tell ye, not a single drop aw'll tyek,
For if aw've been asleep till noo, aw find aw'm wideawake
Te the evil that it's cawsed us,-an' if mine be nowt te sum,
Whey, aw'll try me best te hinder such anuther day te cum
Te me-sel an' te the mony;-an' ye knaw as weel as me
That aw'm honest and strite-forward as a workin man can be.
Then what myed us se disgracefully bring a' me frinds te grief?
What myed us be trailed throo the streets like sum vile, dorty thief?
What myed us pass last neet amang an idle, low-lifed gang,
When aw shud been at hyem i' peace, an' free frev ony rang?
What browt us te the pris'nor's box like sum poor, guilty thing,
An' on me fam'ly an' me-sel such misery te bring,
An' fill thor breests wi' shem an' pain,-hoo can aw meet thor eyes?
Hoo can me maister trust us noo ?-
Aw ask ye is this wise?
What else but drink-the country's curse-browt this mischief te me?
So frae man's greatest enemy this moment aw'll be free!
An' if ye'Il tyek a mate's advice, ye'll try an' de the syem,
For drunkenness 'Il nivvor tend te myek a happy hyem.
The lesson that aw've lairnt the day shall iver be me plan,
Te shun disgrace an' try te be respected as a man! "

-Source: Joe Wilson, (author) Songs and Drolleries, 1890

Post - Top - Home - Printer Friendly - Translate

Subject: RE: Songs/Poems of Joe Wilson
From: *#1 PEASANT*
Date: 22 May 17 - 03:43 PM


TEUN- "The Lancashire Lass."

WOR Jack's a young lad that's byeth clivor an' smart,
His heed's full 0' knollidge an' a' kinds 0' lairnin;
He's got a' the scheul beuks clean off be heart,
An' nowt else wad please him but startin a scheul.
He thowt he cud de the thing complete,
Efter wark, i' the hoose, myest ivry neet,
Wi' lads an' lasses belangin the street,
He wad seun hey a canny bit scheul,


"If they'd say eftor me thor ABC,"
He thowt it wad de se canny an' clivor ;
But ABC DEan' F G
Wes owt but a spree for poor Jack at the scheu!.

The scholars he got wes a thick-heeded lot,
They had bother'd the heed ov mony a maister,
Till hopeless they'd let them a' gan te pot,
So Jack got them a' when he opened the scheul;
Besides they war nearly twice Jack's age,
If they broke a slate or tore a page,
They wad laffte see him get iv a rage,
An they'd myek quite a scene i' scheu!.

Says one, "What's the gud ov us lairnin at a'?
When aw can get me muther te read the papers;"
Says anuther, "Aw'lllairn when aw'm auder, aw knaw,
That 'ill save us the trouble ov gannin te scheul!"
Then anuther wad seun brick up the class,
Wi' startin te tease anuther lad's lass,
An' if Jack spoke they'd smack his jaws,
So they seun put an end te the scheul,

Says Jack, "But ye'll a' rue this i' the end,
Thor's nowt ye'll regret like yor lairnin neglected,
Ye pay ne attenshun becawse aw's yor frind,
When aw's willin te teach ye ye'll not hey a scheul
Ye'll think 0' the chance ye've thrawn away,
An' mony a time ye'll rue the day
That ye broke up me little bit scheul.

-Source: Joe Wilson, (author) Songs and Drolleries, 1890

Post - Top - Home - Printer Friendly - Translate

Subject: RE: Songs/Poems of Joe Wilson
From: *#1 PEASANT*
Date: 22 May 17 - 04:09 PM


TEUN-" Irish Mally, O!"

JIM TODD wes once a gud-like chep,
Wi' nose byeth clean an' strite;
His cheeks had a nice rosy tint
Abuv the skin se white.
Until he joined a drunken lot,
His features had repose;
But brandy myed an ugly change,
It pimpled a' his nose.


It spoiled his fyece se canny,
An' his failins did expose;
It's not a plissint seet te see
A drunkard's painted nose!

At forst he thowt them beauty spots,
That seun wad gan away;
He cuddent think he'd hey a nose
Like that frae day te day.
He sighed as he luckt i' the glass,
Wi' feelins quite morose,
Te see his cheeks se varry pale,
An' such a fierynose!

He got advice frae docter cheps,
But a' that they cud say,
Wes if he'd let the drink alyen,
'Twad mebbies gan away.
It teuk him eers te cullur'd se,
An' munny, aw suppose:
The brandy that he drunk wad myek't
A real expensive nose!

An' so he carries on his fyece
The drunkard's glarin sign!
Ye cannet called an ornament,
Tho brightly it dis shine.
But if he'll tyek a frind's advice,
An' de what aw propose,
He'll drink ne mair, but tyek the pledge,
An' get a different nose!

-Source: Joe Wilson, (author) Songs and Drolleries, 1890

Post - Top - Home - Printer Friendly - Translate

Subject: RE: Songs/Poems of Joe Wilson
From: *#1 PEASANT*
Date: 22 May 17 - 04:17 PM


RECITATION. 'TWES a fearful seet,
l' the winter's neet,
A wummin lyin drunk i' the street.

Sum thowt she wes bad,
Or deed wi' the cawd,
She luckt se starved an' se poorly clad.

They wad tyek her up,
An' give her a sup:
Her breeth smelt strang 0' the cursed cup.

They myest.let her fall,
But a frindly wall
Stopt her, as she opened her shawl.

What wes that that fell?
Aw can hardly tell.
Was she a wummin or fiend from hell?

Se drunk i' the street,
On a winter's neet,
Wiv her bairn lyin a corpse at her feet!

'Twes frozen te deeth,
An' they held thor breeth,
As they held the corpse, wi' chatterin teeth.

Poor thing! it wes cawd;
A bonny bit lad;
Eneuff te myek the most heartless sad.

They teuk them away;
An' a frosty day
Opened as they i' the station lay.

Aw'm silent an' brief
On a muther's grief;
But i' deeth, that day, she'd felt relief:

For a lifeless child,
An' a parent wild,
Wes seen, as the sun shone soft an' mild.

'Here the nation's curse
On a bairnless nurse
Wes seen iv its evils, strong in force.

An' so it 'ill be,
Till the country's free
Frae the drink that works such misery.

-Source: Joe Wilson, (author) Songs and Drolleries, 1890

Post - Top - Home - Printer Friendly - Translate

Subject: RE: Songs/Poems of Joe Wilson
From: *#1 PEASANT*
Date: 22 May 17 - 05:07 PM


TEUN-"John Anderson my Jo."

Aw mind the time, when full 0' strength,
Aw gaily went te wark,
An' care sat leetIy On me broo
Frae mornin until dark.
A happy fam'ly be me side
Enlivened a' the scene;
But noo the change, the weary change,
Shows what a feul aw've been.

Contented wi' me daily lot,
Industry charmed me heart,
An' high it beat wi' honest hope,
Sum day aw'd myek a start
I' bissniss, maister for me-sel,
An' this aw might heh been;
But oh, the drink, the weary drink,
Shows what a feul aw've been.

Aw had a hoose, a canny hoose,
An' luvin wife beside;
An' bairns that clung around me knee,
Thor dad and mammy's pride.
Poor things! they dropped off one be one,
For poverty se keen
Com roond us wiv a deedly blast
Man, what a feul aw've been!

The hoose that shud hey been a hyem
Te wife an' bairns for life,
Wes myed a scene ov nowt but want
An' nivvor-ending strife.
Wi' happiness completely lost,
Ne hoose, ne wife, nor wean,
The miserable life aw lead
Shows what a feul aw've been.

Post - Top - Home - Printer Friendly - Translate

Subject: RE: Songs/Poems of Joe Wilson
From: *#1 PEASANT*
Date: 22 May 17 - 05:18 PM


TEUN- "Trust te Luck."

DRINK ne mair! drink ne mair!
Tyek advice that's weel meant:
Thor's not one that abstains
Ivor knawn te repent.
They've seen throo thor folly,
They've got common sense,
Te keep them frae misery,
Low life, an' expense.
Thor brains once se muddled,
They find bright an' clear,
An' things oncese cloody
Sunshiney appear.
Drink ne mair! drink ne mair!
Drink ne mair for yor life!
Drink ne mair for yor-sel,
For yor bairns an' yor wife.
Then attend-aw's yor frind,
Tyek advice that's wee! meant:
Thor's not one that abstains
Ivor knawn te repent.

Drink ne mair !-throo the air,
Thor's a voice that repeats
These words te the drunkard,
In hoose, bed, or streets.
An' they whisper a warnin
That nyen shud neglect,
If thor anxious te win
Byeth gud frinds an' respect.
Wi firm resolution,
Hoo seun they'll obtain
Such a hearty gud change;
Ne mair they'll complain,
Or wish they war lifeless,
An' eager for deeth,
But welcum the mornin
Wi' hilth i' thor breeth.
Then attend-aw's yor frind,
Tyek advice that's weel meant:
Thor's not one that abstains
Ivor knawn te repent.

Drink ne mair i-true an' fair
Is the warnin we give:
It 'ill lengthen yor days;
It's a plissure te live,
Wi' ne thowts te darken
The bright, open day,
But honest reflections
Te keep care away;
Contented an' cheerful,
Wi plenty i' store,
Nivvor dreedin the thowts
0' the neet gyen before.
Keep away frae despair,
If ye'll only but think
Ov the happiness lost
Throo gein way te the drink.
Then attend-aw's yor frind,
Thor all frinds that declare,
For the sake 0' yor-sel,
Drink ne mair! drink ne mair !

The above can also be used as a Recitation.

-Source: Joe Wilson, (author) Songs and Drolleries, 1890

Post - Top - Home - Printer Friendly - Translate

Subject: RE: Songs/Poems of Joe Wilson
From: *#1 PEASANT*
Date: 22 May 17 - 05:53 PM



WHE wad pity a drunken brute
That struck a helpless man?
That robbed an' nearly killed, for drink,
A poor an' crippled man?
An' whe wes this unfeelin wretch?
That rascal, Fightin Dan!

Thor's sum, if they can use thor fists,
Such greet advantage take;
They'll double't in yor varry fyece,
Te put ye in a shake,
Te myek ye give what ye refuse
If ye are wideawake.

An' so did Dan treat this poor man,
Aw've mentioned once before:
He tried te myek him pay for drink,
An' then he cursed an' swore,
Then followed him up sum byway
The villainI-like a cur !

'Twes nearly murder: but he lived
Te limp doon te the court,
An' there describe the foul attack,
An' tell where he wes hurt;
The sentence that Dan got that day
Wes onything but sport.

For days he waited i' the jail,
Till one day, tiv his ward,
The turnkey com te tell him he
Wes wanted in the yard.
He seun wes stript an' fastened up
"Gan at it I-hit him hard!"

An' so they did: they hit him hard,
An' Dan turned varry pale ;
Tho seldum frightened ov a man,
The "cat" seun myed him quail.
He yeIled,-it hurt his feelins se,
This bein fiog'd i' jail.

He cried for marcy!- mark the words !
For marcy, at each stroke!
But had he any marcy for
The man he tried te choke?
No! not a bit; not even if
His victim's neck had broke!

Ne pity for the hardened wretch;
Ne sympathy or fear:
Thor'sower mony like him, an'
We divvent want them here:
Thor's sum wad commit ony crime,
Ay, murder, for thor beer!

-Source: Joe Wilson, (author) Songs and Drolleries, 1890

Post - Top - Home - Printer Friendly - Translate

Subject: RE: Songs/Poems of Joe Wilson
From: *#1 PEASANT*
Date: 22 May 17 - 07:34 PM


TEUN- "The Gallowgate Lad."

AW'M bad, but aw's always complainin,
Me heed's just as thick as can be,
Se often aw get on the fuddle,
Reflection's ne plissure for me;
Me-sel aw cud start noo an' hammer,
Aw think se much shem te relate;
Throo the drink aw's byeth sad an' unhappy,
Last neet aw fell oot wi' me mate.

A canny young fellow is Geordey,
He's been a real gud un te me;
It's fewthat's enjoy'd better frindship,
Se kind an' true-hearted is he ;
Aw nivvor fell oot wi' me comrade,
Till last neet, aw'm sorry te state:
Aw teuk offme coat for te fight him,
Te fight wi' maw canny aud mate.

Wi' spirits an' beer nearly crazy,
Disputin each word that he said:
Me tung full ov owt but gud langwidge,
A mis'rable time on't aw myed;
Aw struck him, an' show'd me bad temper,
Man! me-sel aw cud willingly hate ;
Aw cud cry, aw's that full 0' vexation,
Te think aw fell oot wi' me mate.

Poor fellow, he tried te persuade us
Te pitch up the drink for me gud,
An' he said, if aw'd try, wiv a struggle
Aw'd did, an' quite easy aw cud;
But stubborn, aw started te call him
A preacher, se paltry, te prate;
Aw treated wi' scorn his true kindness,
An' scoff'd at maw canny aud mate.

Aw saw the poor lad wes quite nettled,
An' sorry te see me that way;
He tried te put me in gud humour,
Not one angry word wad he say;
But heed-strang an' fiercely ungrateful,
Wi' passion that waddent abate;
Aw call'd him a "nowt" for his trouble,
An' fairly fell out wi' me mate.

When sober hoo happy tegither
We've been, an' we always cud be,
Aw'll tyek his advice, turn teetotal,
The varry best thing aw can de:
For drink myeks a man se unhappy,
Throo trouble it's sure te create;
It separates frinds an' relations,
An' myeks a chep loss a gud mate.

The above can also be used as a Recitation.

-Source: Joe Wilson, (author) Songs and Drolleries, 1890

Post - Top - Home - Printer Friendly - Translate

Subject: RE: Songs/Poems of Joe Wilson
From: *#1 PEASANT*
Date: 22 May 17 - 08:55 PM


TEUN-" Barbary Bell."

YE may talk aboot clivor men bein greet drinkers,
An' reckon yor-sel as a one 0' that sort,
An' run doon teetotal te cheps that's not thinkers,
But, hinny, what say ye to Cowen an' Burt?
Are they i' yor list amang a' yor greet talent,
If not, myek a fresh un if only for sport,
An' heed it wi' one 0' the best 0' Gud Templars,
The M.P. for Morpeth, the nyem Thomas Burt.

It's a credit to send for thor member a pitman,
They knew he desarved it, an' voted like men;
What he's deun issent halfwhat he's gan te de yit,man,
In Parliament seun he'll myek famous his nyem.
He talks like a man wiv his senses aboot him,
Thor's nowt stimulates him se much as the worth
Ov his awn canny frinds, an' they nivvor need doot him,
The workin-man's frind, an' the pride 0' the North.

Thor's uthers like him aw cud mention wi' plissure,
But, bliss ye, 'twad fill a big beuk such a size;
Thor nyems i' the North we respect an' we trissure,
Joe Cowen's anuther te open yor eyes:
He knaws mair aboot a' political hist'ry,
Then lots 0' greet statesmen that's got a grand nyem,
An' hoohe thinks on't a' te me's quite a myst'ry;
He'll myek his mark yit, lad, afore he cums hyem.

So dinnet brag se when ye talk aboot drinkers,
Or dinnet ye run the teetotalers doon;
Thor's men that's abstainers can prove as greet clinkers,
An' myek thor-sels knawn te the world i' renoon.
Sobriety myeks a man's heed always clearer,
He's welcum, respected, knaws hoo te behave;
Te byeth frinds an' family he'll ivor be dearer
It dissent need whiskey te myek a man brave.

-Source: Joe Wilson, (author) Songs and Drolleries, 1890

Post - Top - Home - Printer Friendly - Translate

Subject: RE: Songs/Poems of Joe Wilson
From: *#1 PEASANT*
Date: 23 May 17 - 06:53 AM


TEUN- "The Sewing Machine."

JACK wes a real gud workman,
His shopmates a' knew that;
But whenivor he got drink,
He'd nivvor strike a bat.
His mates wes all sober men,
An' diddent like te see
A clivor hand like Lazy Jack
Se often on the spree.


He wad hardly work a week,
Before he got the sack;
'Twes a pity te see
Such a man on the spree
Wiv a nyem like Lazy Jack!

His wife wes full 0' trubble,
An' mony weary days,
She'd humour him or scowld him
Te myek him mend his ways.
An' Jack wad say he wad did,
But when she turned her back,
He'd say, "Ne wark for me the day!"
Weel nyem'd wes Lazy Jack.

He'd often tyek a bottle,
When he wes on the spree,
Te drink at hyem, throo the neet,
A real dry chep was he.
He'd put it in the cupboard,
An' reckoned such a treat,
The time his wifewes fast asleep,
Te fuddle a' the neet.

One neet, mair drunk than ivor,
He got up for a drink,
An' seized another bottle
Afore he'd time te think.
He swally'd a gud moothful,
An' then wi' fear wes dumb:
He fund 'twas "Furnitor Polish"
An' not Jamaica Rum.

"What's this?" he cried; "aw's deun for.
Whativor is this stuff?
It's neither rum nor whiskey,
Aw's setisfied eneuff.
Gud-bye, maw ill-used wifey!
Aw'm deed I-aw's on me back!
An unintended suicide's
Yor husband, Lazy Jack!"

He thowt that he wes poisin'd,
Be gud luck he wes not;
But it gov him such a fright,
It changed him frev a sot
Tiv a useful sober man. Says he,
"If folks wad think,
An' dreed poisin noo as aw did;
They'd nivvor ne mair drink!"


A simple cure's often best,
So here aw'll end me crack;
But away an' at hyem,
Thor's a change tiv his nyern,
It's canny Industrious Jack.

-Source: Joe Wilson, (author) Songs and Drolleries, 1890

Post - Top - Home - Printer Friendly - Translate

Subject: RE: Songs/Poems of Joe Wilson
From: *#1 PEASANT*
Date: 23 May 17 - 07:13 AM


TEUN- "The Harp that once."

JUST see the drunkard, mean an' starved,
Gan trailin throo the street,
Appealin wiv his bleary eyes
For ye te stand him treat.
A lazy, dorty, creepin thing,
A man but i' the nyem
A sot that cares for nowt but drink,
A stranger tiv a' shem.

Despised for spungin, there he'll stand,
An' shiver heed te fut;
Sumtimes adorned wi' blackened eye,
Or else sum ugly cut,
That myeks him mair repulsive like
Yor forced te turn away,
An' wunder hoo he hes the cheek
Te turn oot throo the day.

Then see the brisk teetotal man
Gan sharply throo the street,
Wi' heed erect ;-he gains respect
Frae ivry one he'll meet.
His plissure is a bissey life,
He knaws it suits him best;
An' when relieved frae daily toil,
Thor's cumfort in his rest.

He'd like te better a' mankind
That's gyen, or led, astray;
He'd kindly tyek the drunkard's hand
Te lead him the reet way;
An' show te him the greet mistake,
In drink thor is ne gain;
That life can be a
Paradise, If he will but abstain.

-Source: Joe Wilson, (author) Songs and Drolleries, 1890

Post - Top - Home - Printer Friendly - Translate

Subject: RE: Songs/Poems of Joe Wilson
From: *#1 PEASANT*
Date: 23 May 17 - 07:21 AM


TEUN- "The Time that me Fethur wes bad."

WHEN ye read i' the papers each morn,
Ov sum most unfortunate case,
Where poor fellows meet, throo the drink,
Thor deeth i' sum cot-the-way place;
It's unheeded, passed ower, forgot,
It's sumthingse common te see;
An' ye nivvor imagine such-like
Might just as seun happen te ye.

No, ye nivvor think that might been ye,
Yor reckoned a real stiddy man,
But ye might get a drop ower much
Te drink nyen at a's the best plan!
Wi' yor senses aboot ye se clear,
Yor footsteps is sure, safe, an' soond:
If the river cud speak, it wad say,
"Thor's seldum Teetotalers drooned !"

Then just think 0' me sang when ye read
The cases yor sartin te see,
An' ye'll find the best pairt's a' throo drink,
Sum accidents efter a spree.
When ye think 0' such untimely deeths,
It's far better te let drink a be,
For it's ne gud te sacrifice life,
That shud always be precious te ye.

-Source: Joe Wilson, (author) Songs and Drolleries, 1890

Post - Top - Home - Printer Friendly - Translate

Subject: RE: Songs/Poems of Joe Wilson
From: *#1 PEASANT*
Date: 23 May 17 - 08:52 AM


TEUN- "The Happy Land of Erin."

WHAT a helpless chep am aw,
It's a pity ye shud knaw,
But aw cannet baud me tung, so aw mun speak, man;
For aw once wes bowld an' strang,
An' cud roar oot ony sang,
Noo aw cannet sing for sixpence, aw's se weak, man.


But join us i' the korus, an' lend a helpin hand,
Tho aw needint sing i' praise 0' rum or whiskey;
For they tyek away all power, an' if aw cud only stand,
An' wes sober, aw wad sing the" Bay 0' Biskey."

Aw's as poor as ony moose,
An' aw's not a bit 0' use,
Or an ornament te grace gud society;
An' this neet aw'll lay me bones
On a bed 0' pavin stones,
For aw hevvint sense te stick te sobriety.

But it's just what aw desarve,
Tho aw had ne call te starve,
If aw'd been a sober chep, aw'd been real clivor;
But me heed keeps in a muddle,
Throo us gettin on the fuddle,
It's a wasted life that spoils yor brains for ivor.

Hoo aw gloried in a spree,
Myekin beer an' munny flee,
Nivvor thinkin that me brass wes gettin shorter.
Aw had such a canny lass,
But aw lost her throo me glass,
Aw wes drinkin, so aw haddint time te court her.

But aw'm sure 'twes best for her,
When she showed us te the door,
'Twad been misery for life if she had married
Such a drunken chep as me,
So aw often wish te dee,
For aw nivvor will be happy till aw'm barried.

-Source: Joe Wilson, (author) Songs and Drolleries, 1890

Post - Top - Home - Printer Friendly - Translate

Subject: RE: Songs/Poems of Joe Wilson
From: *#1 PEASANT*
Date: 23 May 17 - 01:16 PM


TEUN-"The Postman's Knock."

SAYS Mary, wi' tears runnin a' doon her cheeks,
"Aw cud cry me eyes oat throo war Jack;
He spends as much munny on whiskeyan' beer
As wad put a new suit on his back;
Each Monday he promises faithful te buy
Sum claes for the bairnies an' me;
He myeks us believe that he's gannin te work,
But he's half 0' the week on the spree.


"It's a pity te see wor Jack on the spree,
He'll nivvor buy claes for the bairns or for me.

" Buy sum claes for the bairns if ye winnet forme!'
At the end 0' the week aw'll oft say;
But he puts us off wiv a paltry excuse,
Such as-' Wait till aw hev a full pay!'
He'll spend all his brass, axin foaks what they'll hev'
He's a gud-hearted fellow,'they say;
But they nivvor imagine he nivvor asks me
What aw'll hev, when at hyem, i' that way.

"It may set him off i' the cumpney he gets,
But if he'd these three-happences save,
Hoo seun he might better byeth us an' he'sel,
Ay, an' not keep his wife like a slave;
Unshaven he'd rethur gan for a full week,
Always dirty an' seedy is he;
An' the bairns an' me-sel's not a bit better off,
Throo the munny he spends iv a spree.

"Aw've mended thor claes till a stitch 'ill not haud,
If aw wesh them, te pieces they cum;
For all he sees this, an' besides they've ne shoes,
When aw speak, aw might as weel be dumb;
If he answers at a', he'll say, 'Wait, an' aw'll buy
Them a' sumthing on Seturday next;'
But Seturday cums an' it gans the syem way,
An' aw'vealways a heart sairly vext.

"There's Tommy, poor thing, tho he's happy i' rags,
He's not fit.te be seen i' the street,
An' Mally, she hesint a hat tiv her heed,
An' young Johnny ne shoes tiv his feet;
Wi' me awd claes aw often cud help them a bit,
But aw noo heh te weer them me-sel;
An' whativor 'ill cum ov us a' when thor deun,
Whey, aw cannet imagine or tell.

Wor neybors, next door, always dress smart an' neat,
An' thor always at hyem at a meal;
Thor the pictor 0' cumfort an' hearty gud hilth,
An' thor real canny foaks tee as weel;
They've wanted us often te gan up sum neet,
Te join i' the Temperance cawse,
An' then we might just be as weel off as them,
But wor Jack 'ill not gan, tho he knaws.

"Aw wish.he wad join them, an' stick te the pledge,
What a different life it wad be;
Thor's nowt but starvation an' want where thor's drink,
For the wages that cum as seun flee;
Thor's one-half condem'd for the tick that he's had,
Wi' the uther he'll gan on the spree ;
While the fam'ly may starve, wi' ne claes te thor backs,
Then God help them poor bairnies an' me."

The above can also be used as a Recitation.

-Source: Joe Wilson, (author) Songs and Drolleries, 1890

Post - Top - Home - Printer Friendly - Translate

Subject: RE: Songs/Poems of Joe Wilson
From: *#1 PEASANT*
Date: 23 May 17 - 01:27 PM


TEUN- "Kiss me quick and go."

YOUNG HARRY staggered throo the street,
An' got a heavy fall ;
His leg wes broke, an' there he lay
Wi' heed agyen the wall.
His groans attracted plenty folks,
But helpless there he lay,
Till frinds com up te lend a hand,
An' carry him away.


An'.ten weeks on his bed he lay,
As helpless as cud be;
An' mony a time he rued the day
He went upon the spree.

His muther tried te cheer him up,
An' frinds com droppin in:
For Harry had a lot 0' mates
Te see his broken shin:
It frightened sum, an' myed them stop
Upon thor thowtless way;
But one 0' them, young Charley Jones,
Called in byeth neet an' day.

An' Charley often cheered him up,
Wi' readin tiv him there:
He'd tyek a beuk an' sit beside
Poor Harry iv his chair:
What Charley red wes gud an' true,
It let young Harry see
That drink, intoxicatin drink,
Nowt else but harm cud de.

An' Charley myed young Harry turn
Te think the syem as him;
An' often he wad wipe his eyes,
As they wi' tears grew dim.
He teuk the pledge-he's fund it brings
Such happiness te him;
He'll nivvor brickti-he's got mair sense,
Since he'd that broken limb.

-Source: Joe Wilson, (author) Songs and Drolleries, 1890

Post - Top - Home - Printer Friendly - Translate

Subject: RE: Songs/Poems of Joe Wilson
From: *#1 PEASANT*
Date: 23 May 17 - 03:55 PM


'TEUN- "The Cork-Leg."

IF ivor ye want te hear black's white,
If ivor ye want a reglor fight,
Hoo seun the flame ye can easily fan,
If ye contradict a drunken man.

Let him say owt, an' ye divvent agree,
If ye tell him he's rang, he'll let ye see
That ye cannet be reet withoot his plan;
An' thor's nyen se wise as a drunken man.

He'll say his wife's the best i' the toon,
An' the varry next minnit knock her doon,
An' hammer her heed wi' poker an' pan:
A deevil on orth is a drunken man.

He'll grummil at owt, an' hey his way,
An' contradict ivry word ye say;
The subject 'ill finish where ye began,
Withoot thor's a fight wi' the drunken man.

He'll tell ye what he's deun iv his days,
An' stick atnowt if it's just self-praise;
The Lord 0' Creation here ye'll scan:
Chock-full 0' conceit is the drunken man.

He'll brag ova' that belangs te him,
His Uncle Bob and his Cousin Jim;
His tarrier dogs, that's black an' tan,
Is a subject grand for the drunken man.

He'll tell ye that he's canny an' croose,
Wiv a cumley wife an' a forst-rate hoose,
An' thor's nyen such happiness can span;
But ye munnit believe a drunken man!

-Source: Joe Wilson, (author) Songs and Drolleries, 1890

Post - Top - Home - Printer Friendly - Translate

Subject: RE: Songs/Poems of Joe Wilson
From: *#1 PEASANT*
Date: 23 May 17 - 03:57 PM


TEUN-"Judy Macarty."

SAYS Jim te me-"One day aw saw
A seet that myed us glower:
A crood 0' folks wes geth'rin fast,
Aw thowt aw'd just cross ower
The street, te gaze amang the rest
At what had teuk thor fancy;
An' whe wes Iyin On the flags?
War neybor, Tipsy Nancy!

"She cuddent speak-she'd lost her tung,
Tho often she's got plenty;
She cuddent walk-she cuddent stand
A wheelbarrow stud empty.
What de ye think two on us did
Me an' a handy marrow?
We teuk her up, byeth neck an' crop,
An' put her in the barrow!

She stared aboot se helpless like,
For fear that she wes deein;
Wi' minds myed up te tyek her hyem,
We throo the streets went fieein,
Until we landed at the door,
Then lifted her like winkin,
An' left her safe eneuff te snore
An' get clear ov her drinkin.

They teli us when she wakened up,
Myest ivry byen wes akin;
She thowt the world wes upside doon,
She'd gettin such a shakin.
She blaired and cried like any bairn,
Upon her bed se narrow,
When tell'd sum frinds had browt her hyem
Se public i' the barrow. "

"Oh, wes aw born te be browt up,
Then turn a drunken wummin?'
She cried, wi' monny bitter tears;
'An' here's me gud-man cummin!
Aw'm sober now.-What will he think
(When aw'm for life his marrow),
If he hears tell, throo a' the streets,
They've wheel'd us iv a barrow? "

Such seets may be grand fun te sum,
But, oh, it is disgustin;
At last aw really de think shyem
Me heart, it's nearly brustin!
Ne mair aw'll touch the filthy stuff,
Me feelins se te harrow;
An' if it proves te me a cure,
Aw'll bliss that awful barrow!"

She teuk the pledge, an' kept it tee,
An' noo she's what aw fancy:
A canny neybor, clean an' kind;
Weel liked be a' is Nancy.
But shyem still myeks her hang her heed,
She's gawn te shift te Jarrow,
In hopes nebody there 'ill knaw
Her journey in the barrow.
The above can also be used as a Recitation.

-Source: Joe Wilson, (author) Songs and Drolleries, 1890

Post - Top - Home - Printer Friendly - Translate

Subject: RE: Songs/Poems of Joe Wilson
From: *#1 PEASANT*
Date: 23 May 17 - 05:08 PM


TEUN- "A Nice Young Man."

DICK wes a chep that stuck at nowt,
If it wad only pay;
He got an agent's job for beer,
An' myed brass i' that way.
He liked te swagger throo the toon,
An' call at ivry bar;
An' he seun got celebrated
As a trav'ler near an far.
He quickly myed a roarin trade,
An' drove his gig quite smart;
He wad seun be independent
Wi' myekin such a start :
At least he thowt se; so he'd try
Te myek his profits mair :
He'd hev a hand in sumthing else,
What at he diddent care.
But startin bissniss for he'sel
Stuck firmly in his mind;
He'd try a one that waddent fail
The undertakin kind.
An' so he did: he teuk a shop
Built in a weel-knawn street,
Exposin i' the windows there
New coffins te yor seet.
Ay, coffins! bonny handled, tee,
An' breest-plates, met yor view;
Ye cud stand an' calculate yor fit
An' this is really true.
He'd sell his beer te customers,
An' when thor life wes spent,
He'd coffins ready, gud an' cheap,
Wi' joiners kindly sent.
Thor's sum men hes a narve for owt,
If munny they can make;
Thor not porticklor what it is,
If it 'ill only take.
Te think a man shud deal i' beer,
An' deal i' coffins, tee,
Might shock the strangest vulgor mind;
But it's a fact, ye see!
Dick's frinds an'.foes wes a' surprised,
They thowt he'd seun repent;
An' for a lark they chris'end him
"The Double Greet Event! "
But Dick gets on-the Deevil's frind,
His smile it's always grim;
He knaws when he cums tiv his bier,
A coffin waits for him.

The above can also be used as a Recitation.

-Source: Joe Wilson, (author) Songs and Drolleries, 1890

Post - Top - Home - Printer Friendly - Translate

Subject: RE: Songs/Poems of Joe Wilson
From: *#1 PEASANT*
Date: 23 May 17 - 05:19 PM


TEUN-" When the Kye cums hame."

A CHEP that cadjes for a gill
'Ill nivvor gived a thowt,
An' nivvor reckon that the beer
He begs hes te be bowt.
If he knew ony shyem at a',
These words wad strike his ear,
If askin for a treat, he'd say"
Buy us a gill 0' beer? "


"Buy us a gill 0' beer's"
Not attractive te the ear;
It'll tyeka chepwi' narvete say"
Buy us a gill 0' beer!"

He asks ye if ye'll stand a glass
In a sneakin kind 0' way,
Such as-" Aw'm very dry this morn,
Aw want te wet me clay,"
He thinks it's not se beggin-like,
An' not at a' severe;
Altho its meanin's just the syem
"Buy us a gill 0' beer!"

An' this is hoo a chep 'ill spunge,
For folks te feed his greed;
Thor's lots wad giv him nowt at a'
If he said, "Buy us breed! "
An' lots wad hesitate a bit,
For all his meanin's clear,
If he wad only ask them thus
"Cum, hinny, buy us beer! "

-Source: Joe Wilson, (author) Songs and Drolleries, 1890

Post - Top - Home - Printer Friendly - Translate

Subject: RE: Songs/Poems of Joe Wilson
From: *#1 PEASANT*
Date: 23 May 17 - 05:30 PM


TEUN- "The Laird 0' Cockpen."

HE wes lyin asleep i' the broad day-leer,
Stritch'd oat his full length i' the wide open street;
The curb-stone his pillow, quite helpless wes Ned,
Unconscious he lay on a varry hard bed.

Sumtimes he wad grummil at foaks passin by,
Then he'd give a greet snore, an' heave a greet sigh;
Not dreamin that cairts on his toes might hev tred,
He lay there se drunk on his varry hard bed.

A crood gether'd roond, an' the pollis perplext,
Cud dent waken him up, so they got varry vext;
For a stritcher one off te the station-hoose sped,
Then they carried him off tiv anuther hard bed.

He slept a' 'the neet, but next mornin, se sair,
He waken'd, an' started te find he'sel there;
He luckt roond aboot him, says he,
"Aw's misled, For if this is maw hoose it's a different bed! "

"Whativer on orth's browt us here?" ·then he said,
"Aw diddent cum here be me-sel, aw's aflaid ;
Aw'd slept just as weel in abroken-doon shed,
Me byens may weel ake on this hard-hearted bed! "

But the pollis com In, an' it open'd his eyes,
When the magistrates spoke he luckt up wi' surprise;
Says they, "Ye've had lodgins since hereye war led:"
Says he, "But ye gov us an awful hard bed

I' It cost him ten shillins,-he myed his way hyem,
Wi' heed-ake, an' heart-ake, an' byens just the syem ;
Says he, "Ne mair fuddlin, such nonsense is fled,
Aw've cum te maw senses upon that hard bed!"

The above can also be used as a Recitation.

-Source: Joe Wilson, (author) Songs and Drolleries, 1890

Post - Top - Home - Printer Friendly - Translate

Subject: RE: Songs/Poems of Joe Wilson
From: *#1 PEASANT*
Date: 23 May 17 - 05:55 PM


TEUN- "Cum whoam te yor Childer and Me."

STRANGE ideas creep inte wor heeds,
Difficult ye'd think te conceive:
Yet hoo often they'll cum te amuse,
Mair often then we cud believe;
It's just two or three days since young Smith,
A frind 0' mine, laffin appears
Sayin, "What a queer world this wad be
If we allleev'd a whole hundrid eers
If we had, an' we knew that we had
Te leeve for a full hundrid eers !"

The foaks waddent care when they war ill,
They'd nivvor need docterin then,
For the young uns we'd nivvor need fear,
Bein sure they'd grow wimmen an' men;
An' we'd welcum the dear little things
Withoot ony sadness or tears,
For we'd knaw throo thor trubbles they'd pull,
An' they'd leeve for a whole hundrid eers
If they had, an' we knew that they had
Te leeve for a whole hundrid eerst

Then i' courtin we'd nivvor loss heart,
For we'd knaw thor wes plenty 0' time
Te find one, if a lot diddent suit,
An' till ninety we'd be i' wor prime;
But at fifty aw'd freely propose,
An' be seconded safe wi' greet cheers,
That nebody shud work efter that,
Let them rest for the next fiftyeers,
An' experience the real joys 0' life
Till the end 0' the whole hundrid eers.

Aw can hardly imagine what scenes
Thor wad be wi' the time drawin nigh,
Hoo sum wad kneel doon an' repent
While uthers heart-broken wad cry;
Thor wad still be sum wantin a spree,
Nivvor thinkin ov sorrow or tears;
But uthers as prompt as cud be,
Wad pay up all debts in arrears;
While uthers content an' prepared,
Wad finish the lang hundrid eers.

But, bliss ye! if this wes the case,
Thor's sum foaks that's nivvor content,
'Phey'd want te leeve fifty eers mair,
An' fifty eers mair te repent;
So aw think war all best as we are,
An' when hope frev each breest disappears
Let reflections byeth peaceful an' sweet
Myek us knaw we've not wasted wor eers;
That we've leev'd, just as if we had leev'd
For the whole 0' the .Iang hundrid eers.

The above can also be used as a Recitation.

-Source: Joe Wilson, (author) Songs and Drolleries, 1890

Post - Top - Home - Printer Friendly - Translate

Subject: RE: Songs/Poems of Joe Wilson
From: *#1 PEASANT*
Date: 23 May 17 - 07:40 PM


TEUN- "Sally Lee."

ONE day aw got me portrait teun,
When aw wes on the spree;
Aw went an' showed it te me wife,
Says she, "It's just like ye !"
Aw lafft an' felt pleased that it wes,
Says aw, "That's varry true! "
But when aw luckt intiv its fyece,
I cud swore thor wes two.


Two-fowld eyesight's anything but spree;
Two heeds, fower airms, two foaks for one te see.
Thor's sum may think it's funny,
But aw'Il not bed, indeed;
For wben a cbep sees double, whey,
He's nearly oot his heed.

Says aw, "Thor's two heeds on me neck
Upon this pictor here! "
Says she, "Man, ye see double, for
Ye've been upon the beer! "
"See double! de ye think aw's drunk,"
Says aw," maw canny lass! "
Aw luckt agyen, but still aw saw
Two heeds upon the glass.

Aw luckt up te maw bonny wife,
Says aw, "Maw darlin Bell!"
When aw saw she had two fyeces
Byeth laflin like her-sel.
Says aw, "Hev aw got two wives here?"
Says she, "Don't be an ass! "
Aw turned maw heed, an' saw me fyece
Twice i' the luckin-glass.

Aw saw two fiddles hanging up,
Aw knew aw just had one;
Thinks aw, aw'd better heh them doon;
Aw'll try the uther's tone.
Aw got on what aw thowt two chairs,
Te reach them frae the wall,
Aw fund aw'd just one i' me hand,
An' not let either fall.

Aw saw two tyebles on the floor ;
Six chairs, tho we'd but three;
Two kettles singin on the hob,
An' fower cups 0' tea.
Aw saw me two wives suppin theirs,
Says aw, "Hoo de ye de?
Aw diddent knaw my wife wes twins
Yor welcum byeth te me !"

Aw sat there fairly mesmerised,
An' tried awake te keep;
Aw fund me senses cummin te
As aw wes gawn te sleep.
But when aw wakened up, aw went,
An', sober, signed the pledge;
Thinks aw, this seein double's close
Upon the madhoose edge.

The above may also be used as a Recitation.

-Source: Joe Wilson, (author) Songs and Drolleries, 1890

Post - Top - Home - Printer Friendly - Translate

Subject: RE: Songs/Poems of Joe Wilson
From: *#1 PEASANT*
Date: 23 May 17 - 07:51 PM


THEY'VE teun him off te the Station noo,
Sumbody said that they always knew
'Twad end like this; for the fearful strife
Wad only end i' the loss ov a life,
An' that wad be i' the life ov the wife.

"Murder!" wes whispered in ivry breeth.
A poor aud wummin wes kicked te deeth
Ay, kicked te deeth wivher man's greet feet
In hob-nail beuts, that he wore i' the street.
An' sumbody said that it sarved her reet.

Sumbody always hes sumthing te say.
Aw heard they'd been drinkin mony a day
Ay, mony 11 day an' many a year,
Till the wummin had lost a' sense 0' fear,
An' nivvor thowt that her end wes near.

But ivry life mun cum tiv an end,
The seuner wi' drinkin, ye may depend;
The seuner wi' drink, for it's murder's mate,
For it fills the breest wi' passion an' hate,
That the hangman nivvor hes lang te Walt.

The prisoner sits iv his gloomy cell,
An' hears for his-sel the funeral bell.
But sumbody says that they owt te see
The murderer hung on the gallows tree;
It's a shem that it shud se private be.

Oh, but sumbody here shud stop an' think
Ov the evil deun throo the evil drink.
For it's murder here, an' it's murder there,
It's murder throo drink myest ivrywhere,
An' the gallows is varry seldom bare.

Keep clear 0' the drink for yor lives, aw say;
Keep't oot 0' yor awn an' yor bairns' way,
Tho sumbody says it'll de ye gud;
But it nivvor will, nor it nivvor cud;
It corrupts the mind, the body, an' blud.

-Source: Joe Wilson, (author) Songs and Drolleries, 1890

Post - Top - Home - Printer Friendly - Translate

Subject: RE: Songs/Poems of Joe Wilson
From: *#1 PEASANT*
Date: 23 May 17 - 09:24 PM


TEUN- "Terence's Farewell."

JACK BARKLEY'S thick-heeded an' lazy,
He lounges aboot like a feul ;
Unshaven an' dorty, he'll deave ye
As seun as he iver gets full.
He'll sing an' he'Il shoot like a madman,
His fav'rit's wee! knawn, "Cheer, Boys, Cheer!"
An' he'll blair wiv a fyece sentimental;
He's noisy, not lively, wi' beer.

Wild Bob gans aboot foaks insultin,
Ye'd think at the world he'd a spite;
He'll dunch agyen foaks that he passes,
An' try an' provoke them te fight.
He likes te fall oot wi' the pollis,
His eyes frae the black's seldum clear;
In fact, he's a black altegither,
Nivvor safe when he gans on the beer.

Lang Polly gans daft when she's drinkin,
Neglectin her gud-man an' bairns;
She'll sit dayan' neet when she tipples
Alang wiv her neybor, Doll Cairns.
DoIl laffs at owt-screams like a nidiot,
Poll cries wiv a crokidile's tear;
Thor a nice-luckin sample 0' wimmen
These two, when they get on the beer!

Ruff Bill thinks but nowt aboot smashin
Whativer may cum iv his way;
He threw a glass plate at his wife, an'
It struck thor poor bairn as it lay.
They've tyekin Bill off te the station;
He threatens that, when he gets clear,
He'll myek his poor wife sairly suffer;
He's a miscreant maddened wi' beer.

They may sing silly sangs iv its praises,
An' butter the Scotch an' the Mild;
But where is its qualities precious?
It myeks men unsettled an' wild.
Thor a' better, far better, withoot it,
Throo the world they can steadily steer,
With a heed byeth cool, firm, an' collected,
Withoot thor brains muddled wi' beer.
The above can also be used as a Recitation.

-Source: Joe Wilson, (author) Songs and Drolleries, 1890

Post - Top - Home - Printer Friendly - Translate

Subject: RE: Songs/Poems of Joe Wilson
From: *#1 PEASANT*
Date: 23 May 17 - 11:20 PM


TEUN- "Trab, Trab,"

Aw cud welcum ivry mornin
Wiv a heart byeth leet an' gay,
An' the sun agyen returnin
Te myek bright anuther day;
But aw de nowt else but sigh,
For aw feel se awful dry!
Dry, dry, dry, dry,
Aw'm always dry:
Whativer can aw try?

Yis; the mornin' may be plissint,
An' the birds may sweetly sing;
But thor's not a charm, thor issent,
That can joy te maw heart bring.
When aw luck up te the sky,
Te feel better hoo aw try;

But dry, dry, dry,
Aw'malways dry:
Whativer can aw try?

Can aw not find resolution
Te dispel this dreadful thirst?
An' te save me constitution
Is thor nowt te be enforced?
Is thor nowt that aw can try?
Can sum gud frind not reply?

For dry, dry, dry,
Aw'm always dry
Whativer can aw try?

Thor's a voice heard throo the nation,
An' it whispers, "Stop, gud frind !
If ye keep frae dissipation,
What a greet relief ye'll find.
An' ye'll bliss us by-an'-by,
If ye'll only just comply.

Then try, try, try:
Ye'Il not be dry,
If Temperance ye'Il try!"

-Source: Joe Wilson, (author) Songs and Drolleries, 1890

Post - Top - Home - Printer Friendly - Translate

Subject: RE: Songs/Poems of Joe Wilson
From: *#1 PEASANT*
Date: 24 May 17 - 02:33 PM


TEUN- "The Cure."

Iv a' the" cures " that's in the world
Thor's one that's stud the test,
An' seun 'ill be established as
The safest an' the best:
That's abstinence frae alchohol!
It cheers the heart a' throo
Te hear anuther member's myed,
An' he's teetotal noo.


I Teetotal noo! teetotal noo!
It cheers the heart a' throo
Te hear anuther member's myed,
An' he's teetotal noo.

Aw'll tell ye a few cures it's myed:
Bill Thorn wes varry bad,
He thowt that he wes gannin fast
Says aw, "Maw canny lad,
Just pitch up drinkin what ye de,
Or else ne mair ye'll hew!"
He did, an' noo he's stoot an' strang,
For he's teetotal noo.

Tom Rolly's hilth wes leavin him,
He got that dreadful weak;
When weel, he wes a noisy chep,
Wi' such a lot d cheek:
But noo he's stiddy, weel-behaved,
He's bid the beer adieu!
Just ask him, he knaws which is best,
For he's teetotal noo.

Ned Whalley's temper wes the warst
Ov any i' the street;
He used te hit an' kick his wife
He nigh killed her one neet:
But noo thor just as happy, an'
Glad smiles leet up each broo;
The reason 0' this wondrous change
Is, he's teetotal noo.

Jack Bruce wes thowt a hopeless case,
Myest always bad an' pale;
He passed his time away frae hyem
When he wes oot 0' jail:
But noo he's got a canny job;
The gentlemen in blue
Miss Jack-he's nivvor i' thor hands,
For he's teetotal noo.

Aw nivvor saw a chep se thin
As Davey Bones once was;
Starvation, like a walkin ghost,
Wes pictor'd in his Jaws.
It teuk a while te get him roond,
At last heTiilthy grew;
An' lately he's mair like a man,
For he's teetotal noo.

But, bliss ye! aw might sing a' neet,
An' subjects nivvor cease,
Te prove hoo mony lives 0' war's
Been alter'd inte peace.
The happy change, the gladnin change,
Shud always get its due,
Convartin drunken men te say
That they're teetotal noo.
The above can also be used as a Recitation.

-Source: Joe Wilson, (author) Songs and Drolleries, 1890

Post - Top - Home - Printer Friendly - Translate

Subject: RE: Songs/Poems of Joe Wilson
From: *#1 PEASANT*
Date: 24 May 17 - 03:13 PM


TEUN-" The Pawnshop Bleezin."

TOM JACKSON an' his wife fell oot,
Byeth drunk an' got mischievous;
Says he, one neet, "Aw'll end me life,
An' that 'ill seun relieve us
Frae such a bitter plague as ye.
Ye've not been a gud wife te me,
This neet aw'll te the river flee,
An' i' the wetter cawd aw'll dee,
Aw'm once for all detarmined!"

Says she, "If ye intend te gan,
Aw'll de the syem as ye, man;
Aw cuddent leeve here be rne-ael,
Unhappy aw wad be, man.
Ye've always been me care an' pride,
Aw'm lost withoot ye be me side.
Aw've travelled wi' ye far an' wide;
So aw'll gan doon when it's high tide,
An' droon me-sel wi' ye, man!"

Says he, "Ye needint gan wi' me,
Ye'll stop us if yor there, lass;
If ye had been a sober wife,
Aw'd nivvor need te care, lass,
Aw'd let melife run oot its span,
But noo aw'll te destruction gan!"
Says she, "If ye had been a man
That myed a stiddy life yor plan,
"Twad nivvor com te this, man ; "

At neet he slawlybent his way,
Till close beside the river,
He teuk his coat an' waistkit off.
Says he, "It's noo or nivvor!"
When all at once he heard a shriek;
He luckt aroond-he cuddent speak;
When on the surface 0' the deep
He saw a form-he teuk a leap,
For Tom wes a gud swimmer.

He bravely swam te save the life
Ov sum unhappy creetor,
An' be the meunleet there he saw
His wife in ivry feator.
He pull'd her safely te the shore,
Then on his back her body bore,
Until he reached thor awn hoose door,
An' then he laid her on the floor,
Te bring her tiv her senses.

She moaned an' cried when she com roond,
But Tom had nivvor spoken;
Thor freak had gien them byeth a fright,
Her heart wes nearly broken.
But efter this they had sum tea,
Injoyed it better then a spree,
Myed up thor minds T.T. te be; .
An', prizin life, they byeth agree
Ne suicides te be, man.

-Source: Joe Wilson, (author) Songs and Drolleries, 1890

Post - Top - Home - Printer Friendly - Translate

Subject: RE: Songs/Poems of Joe Wilson
From: *#1 PEASANT*
Date: 24 May 17 - 04:41 PM


TEUN-"On the Ropery Banks."

Aw once wes byeth stiddy an' clivor,
"A real handy chep!" they wad say;
At owt aw cud myek me-sel useful,
Aw nivvor wes off wark a day.
Aw sarved me time oot as a fitter,
But nivvor wes tied te me trade;
At neets awwes just like a joiner,
Byeth tyebles an' chairs, tee, aw made.


But noo aw'm byeth helpless an' useless,
Not worthy 0' one word 0' praise;
Throo driukiu aw's browt te the workhoose,
An' here aw mun finish me days.

Aw wes nimble; aw once wes a runner,
As sharp as cud be on me feet;
An' mony a crack aw've astonished
Aw nivvor wes knawn te be beat.
At wrestlin aw wessent a bad un,
Wi' confidence, strang as a bull;
I' public-hoose rows aw wes champein,
Nyen had a chance when aw wes full.

Aw wes happy if aw wes but busy,
Nowt iver com rang i' me way;
Te keep me hands gawn wes a plissure,
Not always porticklor te pay.
Aw'd mend me awn shoes, coat, an' troosers,
Byeth cobbler an' tailor wes aw ;
Or build a pig-sty for me neybors,
An' kill the pigs, tee, ye mun knaw.

Insteed ov us workin for payment,
Aw always felt happy at neet
If they teuk us intiv a beer-boose,
A few glasses myed it a' reet.
Aw liked te hear all ov them praise us,
It filled us se full 0' conceit;
Aw reckoned me-sel, i' me awn mind,
The clivorest man i' the street.
Aw got that much used wi' me glasses,

Aw always kept langin for mair,
Till eers 0' such varry hard drinkin
Teuk effect when aw wassent aware.
A stroke laid us up for life helpless,
An' put a sad end te me spree;
Withoot drink aw'd been strong an' healthy,
It's been a dear fuddle te me.

The above can also be used as a Recitation.

-Source: Joe Wilson, (author) Songs and Drolleries, 1890

Post - Top - Home - Printer Friendly - Translate

Subject: RE: Songs/Poems of Joe Wilson
From: *#1 PEASANT*
Date: 24 May 17 - 10:52 PM


TEUN·-"Mally Dunn."

"WOR Geordey wes a canny man,
A canny man te me;
Me life weslike a happy dream,"
In grief, says Nan McGee.
"Aw blist the day that we got wed,
Such happiness had cum;
But now aw cannet praised ne mair
For Geordey's fond 0' rum !


"Them happy days is passed away,
Aw doot they'll ne mar cum;
Aw hope they may; but hoo can they,
When Geordey's fond 0' rum?

"His gud lucks won me willin heart,
His smile wes honey's sel ;
But oh, his tung had mair effect
Then awheh wordste tell
But noo his bonny fyece is changed,
Its culler's noo becum
A dirty, half-weshed kind 0' reed,
Throo drinkin se much rum !

"Insteed 0' talkin kind te me,
Whenivor he cums in,
He staggers tiv his aud airrn-chair,
Then argyin he'l! begin.
He thinks the room chock full 0' foaks,
Aw stand quite mute an' dumb;
He calls for' Order!' talks away,
Then shoots for sum mair rum!

"Aw've seen him fightin wi' the chair
Becawse it waddent speak;
He'd say aw knew ne greet M.P.'s,
Me knollidge wes se weak.
Politicks aw knew nowt aboot,
As chairman aw wes numb;
He teuk us for sum chep he knew,
Throo gettin se much rum.

"He'll jump oat ov his bed at neets,
An' sweer he sees a ghost;
An' mony a time he'll lector
Te the [ower-pole bed-post.
Next mornin, when he wakens up,
Doon stairs he'll wretched cum,
Sayin, 'Nan, aw've been a feullast neet,
Throo gettin se much rum !'

"He'll haud his heed as if 'twad burst,
Aw myek him a sup tea,
An' try te cheer him wi' me words;
But still it winnet de.
For oh, aw luv me husband weel,
An' hope the day 'ill cum,
When we'll be happy as before
He ivor tyested rum! "

The above can also be used as a Recitation.

-Source: Joe Wilson, (author) Songs and Drolleries, 1890

Post - Top - Home - Printer Friendly - Translate
  Share Thread:

Reply to Thread
Subject:  Help
Preview   Automatic Linebreaks   Make a link ("blue clicky")

Mudcat time: 14 December 8:29 AM EST

[ Home ]

All original material is copyright © 1998 by the Mudcat Café Music Foundation, Inc. All photos, music, images, etc. are copyright © by their rightful owners. Every effort is taken to attribute appropriate copyright to images, content, music, etc. We are not a copyright resource.