I found this at monologues.co.uk. There were no stanza breaks, so I inserted some. I have no idea if this was originally written as a song or a recitation, but it seems some people have sung it.


DIXIE'S DOG
Written by Bernard Wrigley

One day not very long ago in a patch of pea soup fog,
I put my scarf and coat on for a walk outside wi' t'dog.

The air was thick; you couldn't see a yard or two down t'street
When something stopped in front of me—a pair of policeman's feet.

There grew from them some trousers—they were dyed in navy blue—
A helmet, a coat and a pair of hands, with a notebook in 'em too.

I pretends I hasn't seen him, like, there being so much fog.
Then a thund'rous voice booms out, "Now where's your licence for your dog?"

Well, times were bad and jobs were scarce; I'd had to go on t'dole,
And all the money I'd scraped together I'd spent on food and coal.

He knew I had no licence; he was kicking up a fuss.
He says, "Bring it in tomorrow or you'll be having your tea with us."

So all next day I sat at home and looked at t'chimbley flue,
Wond'ring if he'd come around and thinking what to do.

Then I heard a noise at t'top o't'road, it sounded like flat feet,
And I knew it was that copper as he trundled down the street.

So I hid myself behind the door as he began to knock.
He'd no idea I were so near I could even smell his socks.

When he got tired he went away and I brewed me a cup of tea,
And I thought whatever happened, t'last laugh'd be on me.

So next day two burly rozzers come a-swaggering in the place
But I had my licence ready, and a grin all o'er my face.

He says, "Ey up! You were stony broke when I met you in the fog.
How can you afford a licence?" I says, "I've sold my bloody dog."