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?

                      Korus.
                      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!