The Chorlton Rake

It was in the month of June when hedge trimmers were in tune,
That I took a stroll to the Beech at Chorlton;
There I spied a pretty thing whose clothes were all of string,
And I told her that she'd better put her coat on.

She made me feel quite rotten when she said she hadn't got one,
So I offered her my jacket for to wear;
She accepted my kind charity with astonishing alacrity,
And she suggested to the bar we should repair.

She drank something sweet and pink while Taylor's Landlord I did drink,
And we listened to the ballad of Little Musgrave;
By the ninety-seventh verse she began to scream and curse,
And she swore she wished them all into the grave.

So to dissipate the gloom I stepped into the room,
And I sang a song that had a rousing chorus;
But amidst all the racket I noticed that my jacket
Was swiftly disappearing out of doors.

I soon set off in chase, and I thought I'd gained the race,
When I laid my hand upon her slender arm;
But I just grabbed a piece of twine that unravelled in a line,
And I stood holding just a little ball of yarn.

Now I'm a miserable geezer who hasn't got a Visa,
And my equity's so negative my heart could break;
You can hear my credit crunch when I try to buy some lunch,
But I survive in Chorlton Beech on crumbs of cake.

Anon

See you on Wednesday for cakes and ale!
Matthew