Well, "someone" has - and this is what I have on file.
I'd transcribed it from the sheet music edition in a book I borrowed, but no longer have the photocopy of the original. And yes, the transcription takes no account of that lovely and distinctive Saddleworth accent of course!
Anyway, here goes:


FRIEZLAND ALE
(Ammon Wrigley/A. Radcliffe, 1923)


Whene'er I drink of Friezland ale drawn from an old brown bottle,
I feel as if a summer morn were running down my throttle;
A pint of sunshine at a draught, all sparkle, grip and mettle;
There never is a cloudy day when Friezland ale's in fettle.
(Repeat last line.)


The ale-wife meets the morning fair by meadows splashed with clover,
When every breath and every beam is rapture brimming over;
For morning brings her many sweets of subtle taste and witching,
That make a charmèd fairy room of her old-fashioned kitchen.

She goes and gathers in the fields as wild bees gather honey,
Her apron full of pleasant things, the joyous and the sunny;
The smell of blossom in the wind she catches as it passes,
The hunting songs of neighbour lads, the laughter of the lasses.

She catches too the skylark's song and takes each trill and quaver,
The song of throstle down the lane, and throws them into flavour;
The low of cattle on the hills, the smell of grouse and heather
She mixes with her malt and hops and boils them well together.

Now brewery ale is noise and boast and foolish talk and fratchin',
But Friezland ale is mirth and wit and music that is catchin';
With homely sermons quaint and wise and racy old world teaching;
I'd go to chapel twice a day if Friezland ale were preaching.

Now he who drinks that mellow ale grows riper than the cherry,
He walks on daisies all his life, his heart is always merry;
And in his hand you find a grip that tells you he's your brother,
For Friezland ale does parson's work and makes us love each other.


A cracker of a song..... Cheers!
MM