Quayside Ditty
For February, 1816
 

Ah! what's yor news the day, Mr. Mayor, Mr. Mayor!
Ah! what's yor news the day, Mr. Mayor?
The folks of Sheels, they say,
Want wor Custom House away,
And ye canna say them nay, Mr. Mayor, Mr. Mayor,
And ye canna say them nay, Mr. Mayor.

But dinna let it gan, Mr Mayor, Mr. Mayor,
Or, ye'll ruin us tiv a man, Mr. Mayor:
They say a Branch 'ill dee,
But next they'll tyek the Tree,
And smash wor canny Kee, Mr. Mayor, Mr Mayor

Chorus-
Repeat last verse of stanza.

For ah! they're greedy dogs, Mr. Mayor, Mr. Mayor,
They'd grub us up like hogs, Mr. Mayor
If the Custom-house they touch,
They wad na scruple much
For to bolt wor very Hutch, Mr. Mayor, Mr. Mayor.

Before it be woer lang, Mr. Mayor, Mr. Mayor,
Then ca' up a yor gang, Mr. Mayor:
Yor Corporation chiels,
They say they're deep as Deils,
And they hate the folk of Sheels, Mr. Mayor, Mr. Mayor,

Ah! get wor Kee-side Sparks, Mr. Mayor, Mr. Mayor,
Wor Fitters and their Clerks, Mr. Mayor,
To help to bar this stroke--
For faicks, they are the folk
That canna bide the joke, Mr. Mayor, Mr. Mayor.

Aud egg wor men of news, Mr. Mayor, Mr. Mayor,
Wor Murcury and Hues, Mr. Mayor,
Wi' Solomon whe Wise,
their cause to stigmatize,
And trump wors to the skies, Mr. Mayor, Mr. Mayor.

How wad we grieve to see, Mr. Mayor, Mr. Mayor,
The grasss grow on the Kee, Mr. Mayor?
So get the weighty prayers
Of the porters in the chares,
And the wives that sell the wares, Mr Mayor, Mr Mayor.

A butcher's off frae Sheels, Mr. Mayor, Mr. myor,
Wi' the Deevil at his heels, Mr. Mayor;
Faicks, all the way to Lunnin,
Just like a strang tide runnin,
And ah he's deev'lish cunnin, Mr. Mayor, Mr. Mayor.

But Nat's as deep as he, Mr .Mayor, Mr. Mayor
Send him to Lunnin tee, Mr. Mayor,
He has wit, ye may suppose,
Frev his winkers tiv his toes,
Since the Major pull'd his nose, Mr. Mayor, Mr. Mayor.

And send amang the gang, Mr. Mayor, Mr. Mayor,
Arm-- what d'ye ca' him--STRANG, Mr. Mayor.
Ah! send him, if ye plesase,
The Treasury to teaze,
He'll tell them heaps o'lees, Mr. Mayor, Mr. Mayor

If the Sheels folk get the day, Mr. Mayor, Mr. Mayor.
Ah what will Eldon say, Mr. Mayor?
If he has time to spare,
He'll surely blast their prayer,
For the luve of his calf Chare, Mr. Mayor, Mr. Mayor

Then just dee a' ye can, Mr. Mayor, Mr. Mayor,
And follow up the plan, Mr. Mayor,
Else, faicks, ye'll get a spur
In your Corporation fur,
And ye'll plant at Shields wor Burr!!! Mr Mayor
And ye'll plant at Sheels wor Burr!!! Mr. Mayor.
 

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