Ungrateful Bill
Tune: The Jarmin Band

Oh! Jack, What myeks ye luck se sad,
Aw's sure yor put aboot?
Yor lips they trimmel like a leaf,
Yor feyce's like a cloot;
What ails ye, lad? cum tell yor wife,
Te calm yor adjitashun:
An' ease yor mind te find releef
Wi' wummin's consolashun.

Chorus:
Whey, Meg, it's jus ingratitude
What bothers me, maw pet;
The mair gud that ye try te de for sum
foaks i' this orld
Ye'll often find yor-sel warse tret.

Aw lent Billy Finny half-a croon,
When aw cud hardly spared,
Te lowse his troosers oot o' pawn;
For that aw waddint cared,
But he got ten bob te back a horse,
It's nyem wes sumthin funny,
It wun the race-but sad te say,
Aw nivor got me money.

He got wor Geordy's best black claes
When Rodger Turnbull deed,
Te gan te Rodger's funderal, Meg,
He'd tyek'nd iv his heed;
But i' sum drunken row at neet
the coat wes torn te tatters,
An' the hat he got frae unkil Mat's
Been three weeks at the hatters.

But, Meg, that's not the warst iv a'
Ye'll mind i' me last neet,
Aw got ower much at Riley's club,
This mornin i' the street;
Me throat wes parch'd, me munny gyen,
Aw chanced te meet Bill Finny,
Aw askt him wad he stand a gill,
He waddint stand a penny.

Ye cannet tell the gud aw've tried
Te de that raskil Bill;
Aw've lent him what he's nivor paid,
An' he waddent sstand a gill.
Cheer up, says Meg, we've a' te pay
For what we lairn, maw hinny,
Aw'll gie ye gill- but mind yor-sel,
Thor's plenty foaks like Finny.
 

-Source: Joe Wilson, Tyneside Songs and Drolleries