Judge for yourself about "Lancashire Lasses" - here's the first verse and chorus:

I know a girl and she's called Annabella
She stands on our grid every night with her feller
And how do I know that her knickers are yeller
I go down our cellar for coal

Lancashire Lasses can take all the passes
The thin ones the fat ones the ones who wear glasses
They're sweeter than cowheel that's spread with mollasses
It's Lancashire Lasses for me

Bernard rewrote the chorus so some folk may remember a slightly different one

For the foreigners looking in (people from Cheshire) houses round here were built with cellars that had a chute access from the street covered by a slatted grid and the coalman would lift the grid and empty a few bags of coal down there. It saved him making a mess on your carpet but you did have to put it in the bath yourself from the cellar.

Cheers
Mark