Rap 'er to bank, me canny lad!
Wind 'er away, keep tornin!
The back-shift men are gannin' hyam,
We'll be back in the mornin'.

My feyther used to call the torn
When the lang shift was ower.
As he went oot bye, ye'd hear him cry;
D'ye knaa it's efter fower?

And when that aaful day arrived,
The last shift for me feyther;
A faal of stones and brokken bones,
But still above the clatter, he cried:


Rap 'er te bank, me canny lad!
Wind 'er reet slow, that's clivor!
This poor aad lad hes tekken bad,
Aa'll be back heor nivvor.