I THINK YOU'VE ALL MISSED THE POINT


When I lerned miself folk singin, 'twas in in deepest Wiltshyre and orl the zingas woz on the beer lyke.

Now the ztory 'bout stickin yor finga in yer ear was zimply zo ya didn't touch yur pint 'o zider/beer (we were flexible) under yor left armpit wilst yer wer zingin.

An' it didn't matter a toz if yer wuz owt o'tune coz evrybody elze wuz slurpin' in time with the muzic.

Tha winna woz the las' man standin' with or withowt iz finga in iz ear.

NOW doo yoo undastand?