I was inclined to accept Steve Gardham's idea that this thread is a wind-up.
Surely we've lost enough of our traditional repertoire to the Mrs Grundy who would antiscepticise our folk songs to the stage where we sit around singing 'Ten Green Bottles' though, thinking about it, I used to know a pretty randy version of that one time.
"these songs have nothing to do with the folk tradition and have no place here."
Bollocks - if you'll excuse the expression (or if you won't). Our repertoire is full of bawdy, erotic, even obscene songs, and long may that be the case. Even our childrens repertoire has them, though the Opies once shamefully described the kids who sang them as "ogre children'.
We lost many of them thanks to some of the opinions expressed here, but we still have D'urfey's 'Pills to Purge Melancholy' and Farmer's 'Merry Songs and Ballads".
Many of the collectors bowed to Victorian hypocricy and either didn't take down the songs, or castrated them for publication, but many had the good sense to take them down an put them aside for a more enlightned age - nice to see Peter Buchan's 'Secret Songs of Silence' available at long last after a century and a half (two versions of it even).
This is one that managed to slip through the net; an example that sex is there to be celebrated, not to be ashamed of.
As MacColl wrote in is introduction to his annual stage show, The Festival of Fools, "Let fornication thrive".
Jim Carroll

TH'OWD CHAP CAME OWER T' BANK      
From the singing of Harold Slaeden, Openshaw, Manchester, Easter 1934
Recorded by Ewan MacColl and Joan Littlewood

Th' owd chap came ower t' bank bawling for his tea,        
Saw a pair o' mucky clogs where his owd clogs should be;
"Come here wife, come here wife, what's this here I see?
How come this pair o' mucky clogs where my owd clogs should be?"
"O, y'owd "bugger, you daft bugger, it's plain as plain can be,
They're just a couple of pickle jars me owd mam sent to me.
"O, I've been ower hills and dales me lass, and many a grassy moor,
But girt hob nails on a pickle jar I've never seen before."

T'owd chap came ower t' bank bawling for his tea,
Saw a coat on back o' t' door where his owd coat should be;
"Come here wife, come here wife, what's this here I see?
How come this coat on back o' t' door where my owd coat should be?"
"O y'owd bugger, you daft bugger, it's plain as plain can be,
It's just an owd pudding cloth me owd mam sent to me"
"O I've been ower hills and dales me lass, and many a grassy moor,
But buttons on a pudding cloth I've never seen before."

Th'owd chap came ower the bank bawling for his tea,
Saw a head on't pillow where his owd head should be.
"Come here wife, come here wife, what's this here I see?
How come this head on t' pillow where my owd head should be?"
"O, y'owd bugger, you daft bugger, it's plain as plain can be,
That's just a girt big turnip me owd mam sent to me."
"O, I've been ower hills and dales me lass, and many a grassy moor,
But a girt big turnip full of teeth I've never seen before."

T'owd chap came ower the bank bawling for his tea,
Saw a pair of hairy cods where his owd cods should be.
"Come here wife, come here wife, what's this here I see?
How come this pair of hairy cods where my owd cods should be?"
"O, y'owd. bugger, you daft bugger, it's plain as plain can be,
They're just a couple of garden spuds me owd mam sent to me."
"O, I've been ower hills and dales me lass, and many a grassy moor,
But garden spuds with hairs on I've never seen before."

Th' owd chap came ower the bank bawling for his tea,
Saw a great big standing prick where his owd prick should be.
"Come here wife, come here wife, what's this here I see ?
How come this great big standing prick where my owd prick should be?"
"O, y'owd bugger, you daft bugger, it's plain as plain can be,
Its just a home grown carrot me owd mam sent to me."
"O, I've been ower hills and dales and many a grassy moor,
But a carrot digging a great big hoyle I've never seen before."