THis is one of the first I heard at The Wayfarers Club in Manchester in the mid- sixties (note from the extremely Mainly Norfolk site)

Harry Boardman sang Cob-a-Coalin' in 1968 on the Topic album Deep Lancashire: Songs and Ballads of the Industrial North-West. He commented in the album's sleeve notes:
This song has connections with earlier mummers' plays, but in living memory, it has provided a means by which children extract money from unsuspecting grown-ups for fireworks during the weeks leading up to the 5th November.
The chorus, including the tune, is from the Failsworth version (near Oldham) whereas the tune used for the verses is that sung by children in and around the Oldham area itself. The last two verses are still sung by children in the Oldham area but the first three verses were given by Mrs Norah Sykes of Greenfield who, in a letter to the Oldham Chronicle in November 1966, decried the fact that children are singing less and less of the song which she remembers from childhood. In spite of this, the custom shows no sign of dying out completely.

Harry Boardman sings Cob-a-Coalin'
Chorus (after each verse):
We come a-cob-a-coalin', cob-a-coalin', cob-a-coalin'
We come a-cob-a-coalin' for Bonfire Night

Now the first to come in is a collier, you see,
With his pick and his shovel already to dig.
He digs it and picks it and then it does fall,
And that is the way that we gather cob coal.

And the next to come in is a sailor, you see,
With a bunch of blue ribbon tied under his knee,
He travelled through England and France and through Spain,
And now he's returned to owd England again.

And the last to come in is a miser, you see,
He's a hump on his back, and he's blind of one ee.
He's a weary owd feller and he wears a pigtail
And all his delight is in drinking owd ale.

Now down in yon cellar there's an old umbrella,
There's nowt in yon corner but an old pepper pot.
Pepper pot, pepper pot, morning till night,
If you give us nowt, we'll pinch nowt and bid you goodnight.

And down in yon cellar there's plenty of bugs,
They've eaten my stockings and part of my clogs;
We'll get a sharp knife and we'll cut their yeds off,
And we'll have a good supper of bugs yeds and broth.

(spoken)
Up a ladder and down a wall,
Tuppence or thruppence will please us all.

Jim Carroll