The Newcassel Props

Oh, waes me, for wor canny toon,
It canna stand it lang--
The props are tumbling one by one,
The beeldin seun mun gan;
For Deeth o' late has no been blate,
But sent some jovial souls a joggin:
Aw niver griev'd for Jackey Tate,
Nor even little Airchy Loggan.

But when maw lugs was 'lectrified
Wiv Judy Downey's deeth,
Alang wi' Heufy Scott aw cried,
Till byeth was out o' breeth;
For greet and sma', fishwives and a'
Luik'd up tiv her wi' veneration--
If Judy's in the Courts above,
Then for Au'd Nick there'll be nae 'cation.

Next Captain Starkey teuk his stick,
And myed his final bow;
Aw wonder if he's scribblin yet,
Or what he's efter now;
Or if he's drinking gills o' yell,
Or axing pennies to buy bakky--
If not allow'd where Starkey's gyen,
Aw'm sure that he'll be quite unhappy.

Jack Coxon iv a trot went off,
One morning very seun--
Cull Billy said, he'd better stop,
But Deeth cried, Jackey, Come!
Oh! few like him could lift their heel,
Or tell what halls were in the county;
Like mony a proud, black-coated chief,
Jack liv'd upon the parish bounty.

But cheeer up, lads, and dinna droop,
Blind Willy's to the fore,
The blythest if the motley group,
And fairly worth the score:
O weel aw like to hear him sing,
'Bout au'd Sir Mat, and Dr. Brummel--
If he but lives to see the King,
There's nyen o' Willy's friends need grummen

Cull Billy, tee, wor lugs to bliss,
Wiv news 'bout t'other warld,
Aw move that, when wor Vicar dees,
The place for him be arl'd;
For aw really think, wiv half his wit,
He'd myek a reet good pulpit knocker:
Aw'll tell ye where the birth wad fit--
He hugs sae close the parish copper.

Another chep, and the aw's duen,
He bangs th tothers far:
Yor mavies wonderin whe aw mean--
Ye goks, it's Tommy C--r!
When lodgin's scarce, just speak to him,
Yor hapless case he'll surely pity,
He'll 'sist upon your gannin in,
To sup wi' S--tt, and see the Kitty.

Oliver-In: The Newcastle Song Book or Tyne-Side Songster., W&T Fordyce
Newcastle Upon Tyne.