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Subject: Lyr Add: The Second Fiddler- Joe Wilson From: *#1 PEASANT* Date: 29 Apr 06 - 02:52 PM The Second Fiddler Tuen-"Heh ye seen wor Jimmy?" Wor Jimmy's nearly crazy, He's torned se fond o' music; Myest ivry day he deaves ye Wi' the noise that he calls grand. He's always hard at practice On sumthing instrumental; An' he says he' seun be leader Ov the Royal Theatre band. Korus. An' he'll seun be a real forst-rater, He plays the second fiddle Te the chep that's in the middle Ov the band at the Royal Theatre At forst he tried the kornet, But that was sumthing awful, An' the clarinet's wild screeches Myed wor fingers stop wor ears; Wi' the flute he got ne better, For he'd such a changing fancy, Till he went an' bowt a fiddle, An' fill'd a' the hoose wi' tears. Wi' breest ful ov ambition, An' manners captivatin, Sum actress or sum singer He'll try hard te myek his bride; Then te concerts or theatres, Like a gentleman, he'll carry, Se carefully, her music, Wiv his head stuck high wi' pride. But time might bring sum changes Te the job's that's nice an' easy, Tho his wife might think it's plenty For the one I' she confindes; But a chep that carries music Might heh bairns as weel te carry, An' it mightn't always suit him Te heh music on byeth sides. -Joe Wilson |
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Subject: Lyr Add: Wor Feulish Ned!- Joe Wilson From: *#1 PEASANT* Date: 29 Apr 06 - 02:43 PM Wor Feulish Ned! Teun-"The Lazy Lasses o' Branton." Wor Ned at one time wes a canny young lad, He wes stiddy as ony cud be, man, But noo wiv a crew that 'ill seun myek him rue, He's myest ivery day on the spree, man. Korus He starts reet away on the Seturday neets, An ' he's nivvor at hyem on a Sunday, But fuddles away a' the neet an' the day, An' he's always se bad on the Monday. Wor Ned at one time wes so weel off for claes, He luckt quite a swell tiv his bruthers, But noo dort an' rags cover beer-carryin bags, That he hessint a chance wi' the tethers. Wor Ned at one time wasn't pinch'd for his brass, He had plenty te spend an' te spare, man, But noo he's hard up like a gud-for-nowt pup, An' nebody for that seems to care, man. Wor Ned at one time wes se varry weel off, That he nivvor for owt need to seek, man, Noo a shillin's a treat on a Seturday neet, An' then he's hard up a' the week, man. Wor Ned wes a sensible canny-like lad, Fit te cum oot I' day-leet or dark, man, He's nowt like the syem, but like one wi' ne hyem, He's an outcast, throo his feulish wark, man. -Joe Wilson |
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Subject: Lyr Add: Sivilised-Joe Wilson From: *#1 PEASANT* Date: 29 Apr 06 - 12:01 PM Sivilised Teun-"The Miller of the Dee." We get sivilised mair evry day, An' foaks imagin they shud be Far better then them in eers gyen by, But hoo they are aw cannet see; Thor better off in a worldly way, Improvements spring up a' throo time, Bad deeds wi' fin nyems may less appear, But still thor's just as much o' crime Did Adam wi' Eve his wife agree? Had they mair then wor daily strife? Ye'll find relations as bad as Cain, As keen te tyek each uther's life, We've got Airmstrang guns te keep the peace, An' deedly arms nyen had before, A hundred thousand we seun can kill, They'd nowt like these I' days o' yore. But when will men bring happier days? They'll turn the world clean inside oot, Myken troubles a plisure as they Often heaven an' orth dispute; Can they not, wi' a' thor wondrous skil, Invent or find oot sum gud plan, Te heh that influence te myek man Act mair like a brother te man? -Joe Wilson |
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Subject: Lyr Add: The Fitter Sweep!-Joe Wilson From: *#1 PEASANT* Date: 29 Apr 06 - 11:53 AM The Fitter Sweep! A Fact Teun-"Benny 'ill not gan te Scheul," Aw'll sing ye a sang aboot Peter Broon, A through-bred sweep i' this varry toon; He got engaged te clean a forst-rate flue, An' fell i' luv wi' the sarvint lass,-it's true! Korus. Oh, but, lads, when yor courting, deceit 'ill nivvor de; She believed him as Peter believed her; When yor married, ye'll see hoo yor happiness 'ill flee, As' yor wife 'ill not forget hoo ye deceived her. He teuk greet big oaths, which he swor he'd keep, But Sarah said she waddent wed a sweep; "But aw'm a fitter in disguise!" he says,- An' te pass for one, he bowt sum fustin claes. He went te labour, an' appeared quite flash; Wi' square an' calipers he cut a dash; An' she believed that a' he said wes true, Till they got married, an' then she myed him rue. On Seturday, Sarah wes iv a rage, Says she-"Is sixteen bob yor only wage?" Here he confessed his trade a sweep te be, Noo day an' neet she keeps him in misery. -Joe Wilson |
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Subject: Lyr Add: When Aw Wesh Me-sel!-Joe Wilson From: *#1 PEASANT* Date: 29 Apr 06 - 11:47 AM When Aw Wesh Me-Sel! Teun-"Moor Edge Nell." Says Geordey-"Aw'm a pitman, But as shy as uther men; Aw'm as modest as a chep can be When aw'm away frae hyem; But the lass next door just myeks us, I' wor hoose, the varry syem, For she always cums in when aw'm gawn te wesh me-sel. Korus. "She's a flighty las, an' a forward lass; She's an ignorant sort ov a kind ov a lass; She myeks us feel hoo, whey, aw hardly can tell, For she always cums in when aw wesh me-sel, When aw wesh me-sel, when aw wesh me-sel, She always cums in when aw wesh me-sel; She myeks us feel hoo, whey, aw hardly can tell, For she always cums in when aw wesh me-sel. "A pitman hest e strip an' wesh Like ne one but he'sel; So, if he's sensitive at a', Or tendere notions dwell Within his breest, he's sure te feel Sumway aw cannet tell, If a strange lass cums in when he's gan te wesh he' sel. "If she'd been browt up beside us, Whey, aw waddent felt as shy, But lately she's cukm te the place, An' since she teuk me eye, Aw'm narvis, though before her, Te luck brave aw' always try, But she always cums in when aw'm gan te wesh me-sel. "As seun as aw cum frae the pit, An' just tyek off me shart, She cums in wiv her laffin eyes, Drest up se clean an'' smart, Aw feel as if inte me mooth, Aw'd nearly got me heart, An' aw blush, an' divvent knaw what te do wi' me-sel. "A wunder if it's luv that myeks Us frighten'd ov her gaze? Aw wundor if she'd blush if aw Cud see her iv her stays? If this is luv, it puts us in The funniest kind ov ways, An' aw wish she'd just keep outside when aw wesh me-sel!" -Joe Wilson |
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Subject: Lyr Add: I It Haddent Been Her Nose!-Joe Wilson From: *#1 PEASANT* Date: 29 Apr 06 - 10:37 AM If It Haddent Been Her Nose! Teun-"Irish Mally, O!" Aw thowt aw'd nivvor fall in luv, But, lads, aw've been deceived; For aw think mair o' me sweetheart Then aw ivor wad believed. She's a reglor queen frae Sangit, She's a beauty ye'll supose, An' she wad been if she haddent Such a real one-sided nose! Korus. It's a pitty that it spoils her, For her cheek's just like the rose; An' she'd been a reglor beauty If it haddent been her nose! It's neither pug nor Roman, Nor it's neither broad nor short; It's neither sunb nor Grecian, Nor the turn'-up kind o' sort. It just lies te one side a bit; An' te suit byeth frinds an' foes, It sticks tiv its awn business Like a gudone-sided nose! Aw thowt it might hev been a blow She'd got when just a bairn, That knockt it te one side that way; But her muther myed us lairn- That she haddent been five minnits born, When the midwife, aw suppose, Bein' squintin when she nipt it, Goh the bairn a cock-eyed nose! She's fat, she's fair, not forty, Wiv a heart byeth kind an' warm; Besides, she's nice an' stoutly built, Maw luvin breest te charm. Her fut wad myek a fairy blush; She's sprightly on her toes; But aw cannet luck intiv her fyece Withoot aw see her nose! -Joe Wilson |
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Subject: Lyr Add: Kickin the Deevil Doonstairs- Joe Wilson From: *#1 PEASANT* Date: 29 Apr 06 - 10:26 AM Kickin The Deevil Doonstairs! Teun-"The Suit O' Corduroy" One neet aw went upstairs te bed Te hev a quiet snooze, For awe wes fairly tired oot, Me eyes show'd they'd refuse Te keep open ony langer, So byeth aw gently closed, An' there aw lay awhile asleep, An' innocent reposed! Korus Listen te me story, strange as it may seem, And Nick iv his glory, aw pummil'd iv a dream At last aw sees a figgor dark Gan slawly roond the room, Then cum reet up te maw bedside, An' calmly there sit doon; At forst aw cuddent myek't clean oot, But haddent lang te wait, Till aw fund it was the devil Cum te proffissy me fate. Says he, "Are ye prepared te gan? Ye've sarved us noo se lang, An thowt aw might as weel call in For feare owt might be wrang. Aw like te tyek care o' me bairns, An' so aw wish them hyem, They enjoy thor-sels forst-rate belaw, An' ye can de the syem!" Says aw, "If yor aud Nick, me man, Ye'd better gan away, For if aw want te vbisit ye, Aw'll let ye knaw sum day, But if it myeks ne difference, Aw heh ne noshunm yit, If ye want te knaw the reason, The weather's ower het! Says he, "Young man, don't cod yor pa!" Says aw, "Thor's ne paws here, For its nowt but ded an' fethur, Roond a' the Tyne an' Wear." He rapt his tail reet roond me waist, Says he, "Young man, here goes!" But te let him see aw'd science, Aw nail'd him on the nose. Ye mebbies think this wes a dream, A divvent say it's not, But aud Nick iv a' his life-time Nivvor felt it se hot. Aw got him be the scruff o' the neck, An' whether i' fun or fairs, An;' whether it wes a dream or not, Aw kickt him reet doonstairs! -Joe Wilson |
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Subject: Lyr Add: Run Efter Him,Maw Bonny Bairn-Joe Wilson From: *#1 PEASANT* Date: 29 Apr 06 - 10:03 AM Run Efter Him, Maw Bonny Bairn Air-"Three hevin Nowt te de." Ruyn efter him, maw bonny bairn, An' bring him back te me, He's been byeth a gud-man te me, An' bad as he cud be, But ivrybody hes thor falts, An he mun heh the syem, It wassent reet te cawse such rows, In such a canny hyem. Korus Run efter him, maw bonny bairn, He's mevvies on the spree, But try yor best te coax him hyem, An' bring him back te me! Aw thowt when he myed such a wage, He might heh been content, Te save up for a rainy day, But all wes quickly spent; Then he wad de nowt else but tick, Till they wad tick ne mair, An' noo when he's got wark agyen, The hoose is just as bare. Such wark as this myeks us fall oot, Altho when he behaves, It myeks us byeth se happy like, An' a' such trubble saves; Run efter him, an' bring him back, For when he's kind te me, The words we've had aw clean forget, Then happy byeth are we. -Joe Wilson |
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Subject: Lyr Add: Cawd Feet- Joe Wilson From: *#1 PEASANT* Date: 29 Apr 06 - 09:40 AM Cawd Feet Teun-"Cappy's the Dog." Aw's not a Phissishun te neym a greet cure, But aw knaw some complents just as weel, an' aw's sure Thor's nowt that a chep finds i' hoose, bed, or street, That spoils a' wor comfort like hevin cawd feet. Korus Wi' hevin cawd feet, throo the day or a neet, Thor's nowt spoils wor comfort like hevin cawd feet. Coo heel an' sheep's trotters shud always be cawd, Withoot thor i' pies then thor not at all bad, But them's not the subject aw mean for te treat, For the theme o' me sang is yor awn canny feet. Just imagine yor-sel on a cawd rainy day, On the road or the grass, an' yor beuts givin way, As they squirt on the flags as ye gan throo the street, What a blissin 'twad be if ye'd only warm feet. Then hoo bitter it is I' the frost or the snaw, Wi' yor toes fairly numb'd an' yor nose a' reed raw, An' ye wish te yor-sel i' the nesty wet sleet, Ye cud shuv i' yor pockets yor pair o' cawd feet. Then I' bed when ye feel se delightfully het, An' se cosy yor just getting intiv a swett, Hoo ye shoot when ye find yor warmest place meet The touch o' sumbody's real icy-cawd feet. An' it's owt but a treat, for sombody's cawd feet Te kittle ye up I' yor bed throo the neet! -Joe Wilson |
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Subject: Lyr Add: The Pork-Shop Lass- Joe Wilson From: *#1 PEASANT* Date: 29 Apr 06 - 09:29 AM The Pork-Shop Lass. Air-"Bellle of Baltimore." Ye may tawk aboot yor barmaids, An' lanlord's dowters, tee, But they're a matter o' fancy Te sum, but not te me; An' thor's some that like the sarvints, Dressmakers, tee, as weel, But the whole o' thor affecshun's Ne chance wi' what aw feel. Korus Oh my, myest ivery fella Tyeks a' fance te maw Bella, Thor like te de-for she's forst-class, But aw's the one for the pork-shop lass! Like a queen behint the counter, She'll stand an' calmly sarve, An' myek such-clivor sanwitches, She's just the one te carve A roond o' beef or leg o' pork, She cuts se neat an' clean, Her eyes thor like the knife an' fork, They've cut me hear se keen. When the gas is brightly burnin, It lets up a' the street, An' the foaks stand at the window, Admirin pig's meat; But oh, ma Bella's best of a' The greet attracshuns there, For when aw see her fat reed fyece, She's a' me joy an' care. Byeth sassidge, pies, an' saveloys, Sink law I' maw esteem, Black puddins an' white puddins, tee, Aw eat them iv a dream; Pig's tripe an' fry, an' potted heed, May stand the public test, But i' the shop,-an' aw'm a judge, The pork-shop lass's best. -Joe Wilson |
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Subject: Lyr Add: Hear the Deeth-Bed O' Bessie!-Joe Wilson From: *#1 PEASANT* Date: 29 Apr 06 - 09:21 AM Near the Deeth-Bed O' Bessie! Teun-"Teddy O'Neill." Near the deeth-bed o' Bessie, hoo sad, an' hoo lonely, Her fethur an' muther thor weary watch kept, An' prayed thor Creator might ease her pain only, Or tyek here te hivvin, poor thing, as she slept; For she'd suffer'd se lang, an' the hoose once se cheerful, Wes noo the forerunner o' nowt but the grave, As they gazed on her form, wi' thor eyes reed an' tearful, They knew thor wes nowt little Bessie cud save. Thor forst-born lay there, before two hearts nigh broken, An' the whispers they murmur'd browt ne hope at a', The hopes they wad utter'd kept back, still unspoken, For Deeth wes before them, an' that they byeth saw; Just fower years since hoo they'd welcum'd thor Bessie, A bairn, born se bonny, te claim nowt but praise, An' thor frinds a' declared she was such a fine lassie, An angel on earth, -sent te gladden thor days. But noo, for her leet little step they might listen, They'd nivvor heer'd mair, the young couple te cheer, An' the sweet little tung, that oft myed thor eyes glissen, Wad prattle ne mair for its parents te hear; They luckt at the creddle that noo stud se empty, Then luckt at the bed, as they byeth held thor breeth, But Bessie, thor darling an' pet, noo had gyen te That haven o' rest te be fund efter Deeth! -Joe Wilson |
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Subject: Lyr Add: Lally!-Joe Wilson From: *#1 PEASANT* Date: 29 Apr 06 - 09:13 AM Lally! Teun-"Wor Family." Cum listen, me lads, an' ww'll gie ye gud news, That's sartin te please a' the scullers an' crews, His chief backer's sarvints byeth often tell'd me That Lally, thor fayvrit, the champein 'ill be. Korus. An' Mally an Sally declare that Lally The champein's sure te be, An' Lally tell'd Sally, an' Sally tell'd Mally, I's as sure as owt ivor ye'll see. He was born for a hero;-at Alnwick se grand Ne Gallowgate lad like brave Lally cud stand, But the gun iv his hand hes ne chance wi' the scull, For if lickt for a boat, whey, the Dredger he''d pull. He's a thorough-bred game un for distance an' speed, An' thor's ne man alive can put oot ov his heed What he thinks he can de, an' aw'll ventor te say He wad pull fifty matches, ay, day efter day. If ye doot maw opinion, Pete Hewitt 'ill tell Far mair then aw knaw, or he knaws hes-sel, An' whe'll beat Joe Sadler, whenivor he's had, Ax Lally his-sel, an' he'll say he's the lad! -Joe Wilson |
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Subject: Lyr Add: Hungry Geordey!-Joe Wilson From: *#1 PEASANT* Date: 29 Apr 06 - 09:05 AM Hungry Geordey! Air-"Pawnshop Blessin." Wor Geordey's such a hungr'ry chep, Aw divvent knaw what ails him; It dissent matter what's set doon, He's stomick nivvor fails him. Wheniver he cums te the toon, At Handyside's he'll settle doon, It's Bolton's noo, an' he's the man Te try an' myek yor teeth keep gawn, At the end o' the New Grainger Street, At feeding time nowt beats the treat Provide at this keuk-shop Thor's just a bob ye heh te pay An' get a forst-class dinner, An' if ye stump up eighteenpence, For publican or sinner, Ye heh yor choice o' what ye like; For meat ye needn't gan on strike, Thor's soups, an' ham, roast beef, an' tea. Pies, pork, an' puddins ye may see At this grand famous keuk-shop. Wor Geordey knaws he hes his choice, For payin eighteenpence, man, So whenever he cums te the toon, He gans,-for want o'sense, man; He likes te best a' that he can, He orders soup fresh frae the pan, An' then he hes a plate o' beef, An' then a plate o' pie, the thief! An' powls them off like fun, man. One day he set off te the place, An' had two plates o' mutton, An' efter that a plate o' pork, The greet thick-heeded glutton, Peas-puddin next, an' apple-tart, Ye'd thowt 'twad really myed him start Te think a shem, but efter peas, He nearly ett a roond o' cheese, The greet big gormandizer! The next day the greet stupid cull Wes bad as he cud be, man, For cheps shud nivvor think that they Can eat a' that they see, man; Byeth Epsom Salts an' Castor Oil, He teuk te myek the stuff te boil; It sarves him reet,-for if I' need, What a chep wants is a real gud feed, An' not a belly buster! -Joe Wilson |
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Subject: Lyr Add: HE WANTS TE BE A MORMON (Joe Wilson) From: *#1 PEASANT* Date: 29 Apr 06 - 08:49 AM He Wants Te Be A Mormon! Teun- "Maw Bonny Injineer." Ben Scaife had red o' the Mormons, An' he thowt he'd like te be A king o' wives, like Bringham Young, I' connubial majesty. But his wife she diddent fancy't, "No," says she, "Aw'll tell ye, Ben, Te be cock ov a' this midden, Ye'll find me yor only hen!" Korus. To be a Mormon Chief he wants, Alang wi' fifty wives te dance: But his wife 'ill not gie him the chance, She dissent like the Mormons. He tried wi' greet porswayshun Te get Mally te give in, An' quoted scriptor like a priest, An' said it wes ne sin; But sin or not she waddent hed, Says she, "Noo just tried on, An' bring a fancy wife te me, An' see if us three's one!" But i' fun or else i' earnest, He browt one heym at neet, An' sat her doon beside the fire, I' Mally's favrit seat; Then he preach'd a sarmin tiv her, But that she diddent need, For Mally wi' the fryin-pan Com bang upon her heed! Says Mally, "What heh ye cum for! Ye hussey! de ye knaw? If wor Ben wants another wife He's pick'd ye frev a raw, That's not content wi' fifty men, For ivy man ye meet Ye'd like te join yor tribe, ye slut! The Mormons on the street!" Then tiv her man brave Mally spoke- "Ben, what heh ye te say? If aw had got anuther chep, An' browt him here the day, Hoo wad ye fancied such like wark? Ye bubbly-heeded cull, Aw thowt aw'd got a man I' ye, An' aw hev, an' he's a feul!" -Joe Wilson |
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Subject: Lyr Add: Sparrin At the Claes-Joe Wilson From: *#1 PEASANT* Date: 29 Apr 06 - 07:49 AM Sparrin At the Claes Or, Jack Henderson's Mistake. Teun-"Absolam and Ruth." Jack Henderson had a real randy wife, As randy as ony can be, Ne seuner the word then the blow wi' her, An' often she myed Jack flee, Till one neet he went an' got mortal drunk, An' stagger'd quite bravely hyem. Says he,"Aw'll knaw whe's the maister noo, Or Henderson's not me nyem." Korus. Jack Henderson's blud rose up tiv his nose, An' he thowt tiv his-sel he wes sartinly reet, "Te be maistor an' lord when he fund bed an' board, An' if his life wes soor, that hers shuddent be sweet!" An' aw'll tell ye all aboot Jack's mistake, Throo getting se tight that neet! The drink he had had flew up tiv his heed, An' teuk greet effect on his eyes, He nivvor luckt strite, but that neet he saw Quite dubil, te his surprise. His wife wes I' bed when he got te the hoose, An' her claes hung behint the door. He luckt at the dress-"Oh, yor there! says he, He had tyekin the claes for her. "So Mistriss Henderson, that's where ye are!" Says Jack te the claes agyen, "Ye've been meant te nail us when aw com in, But ye'd got the warst on't then, For aw've com hyem detarmin'd te let ye see Aw's the lord an' maistor here, So put up yor hands when aw call oot Time! Aw'll seun gie yor lug' what cheer!" Jack Sparr'd at the claes wi' the science o' Mace, "Cum on, Peggy lass!" says he, "Aw'll gie ye the hoose an' all in't te yor-sel, If this time ye maistor me! Are ye not gawn te speak? Then, ye slut, tyek this!" Wi' that he let byeth hands flee; Reet smack on the door his knuckles went bang, "Yor byens is dam'd hard!" says he. The noise myed his wife lowp oot ov her bed, Then Jack saw his greet mistake; They byeth wired in, without seconds or ring, Till they myed the whole hoose shake; They byeth got eneuff, neither wun or gov in, An' as they rol'd on the floor, The row ended like married foaks' silly rows, Wi' byeth axin "What it wes for?" -Joe Wilson |
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Subject: Lyr Add: Aw Wundor What Jinny 'Ill Hev.- Joe Wils From: *#1 PEASANT* Date: 29 Apr 06 - 07:34 AM "Aw Wundor What Jinny 'Ill Hev." Teun- "The darkey Spark." Aw wunder what wor Jinny 'ill hev! Aw wundor what it 'ill be, Aw's sure aw feel se narvis like, Aw divvent knaw what te de, For if cheps think thor gan te hev A son or a bloomin dowter, It myeks them wunder where they are Whativor the doctor's browt her! Korus. Oh, hi, ho! aw feel se queer, hi, ho! Aw wundor what wor Jinny 'il hev, A wundor what it 'ill be! Aw hope it 'ill be a little lad, An' then we'll myek him sumthing, An' if he's not a champein greet, Te me it's uite a rum thing. Wr sure te myek him a real gud trade, A cobbler or a tailor, Or te save him ivor bein hung, We'll send him for a sailor. But if the lad shud be a lass, Wativor gud wad she be? She'd just grow up te put sum chep I' the syem queer state as me, She might be yeble te clean the hoose, But if she turn'd oot lazy, She'd myek us often crack her jaws, An'send her muther crazy. A wundor what it 'ill really be, It bothers me for sartin, But lad or lass, whativor it is, Aw hope it 'll be a smart un! But gox! if it shud turn oot twins, The wife aw'll kiss an' cuddle, Ay, an' knock the doctor doon for joy, An' then gan on the fuddle! -Joe Wilson |
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Subject: Lyr Add: Cum Back Jack- Joe Wilson From: *#1 PEASANT* Date: 29 Apr 06 - 07:27 AM Cum Back, Jack! Teun-"Paddy, will ye noo." "Noo what de ye stand at the door like that for? Ye say that yor gawn on tramp the day; If ye think it's best yor sair mistakin, For ye'll find thor's hardship on the way!" Korus. "So cum back, Jack,-wark it's slack, But ye'll get yor whack o' what thor is." "De ye think thor's nebody else se poor, lad? De ye think thor's nebody else 'ill find The hard times just as much as we de? If ye de yor owther daft or blind! "Tho poverty let's us knaw wor poor foaks, Let's hope that ye'll get started seun; It's a lang lane, Jack, that hes ne turning,-- Cheer up, me lad- gud times' ill cum! "Yor rang if ye think wor toon's the warst off, For I' bad times best at hyem ye'll be; An' till times cum when we've plenty agyen, Whey, we'll just he te try an' myek less de!" -Joe Wilson |
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Subject: Lyr Add: Geordey At the Races!-Joe Wilson From: *#1 PEASANT* Date: 29 Apr 06 - 06:48 AM Geordey At the Races Teun-"Moor Edge Nell." One morn last June we teuk the train Te the toon, -a mate an' me Set off, drest up i' wor Sunday's claes, The races there te see; An' what we saw upon the moor, Aw's gan te tell te ye, An' hoo we spent the day when at the races. Korus Then haud yor jaw, an' aw'll let ye knaw, The jolliest scenes that there aw saw; Thor wes bonny young lasses, an' canny lads tee, An' wereivor aw is aw like them te be! We thowt we'd walk up te the korse, So join'd amang the crood; But oh, me corns wes sair abused, That changed me happy mood, Till on the moor,-byeth quite content Beside the ring we stud, Detarmin'd for enjoyment at the races. Aw bet a croon wi' one greet swell, An' a ticket he goh me; "Just bring that back if yor horse shud win, An' they aw'll pay," says he, But what aw backt, whey, neivor wun,-- Aw fund it waddint de, Te keep on buyin tickets at the races! Then aw saw a chep sit on the grund, An' work three cairds aboot, An' offer te bet punds on punds On one ye'd not find oot,- Thinks aw, me man, ye'll not catch me Wiv a' yor frinds aboot,- A luck at ye'll sarve us at the races. Then anuther chep sell'd purses, an' Stud high upon a steul, An' med the foaks think ivry puirse Wi' silver wes chock full; Thinks aw, man, ye talk over weel, It's not ye that's the feul, If onybody's a deun for at the races. Then i' the tents we had wor pints, An' smoked wor baccy tee, An' pass'd the jokes wi' lad an' lass, As joly cheps shud de, For what's the gud o' gawn away, Withoot ye hev a spree? An' espeshley if ye gan tiv ony races. -Joe Wilson |
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Subject: Lyr Add: Me Little Wife At Hyem!-Joe Wilson From: *#1 PEASANT* Date: 29 Apr 06 - 06:36 AM Me Little Wife At Hyem! Teun-"Newcassel is me Naytive Place." Be the fire sittin knittin, Sittin knittin wi' gud will, As the clock keeps on its tickin, Thor's the click o' needles still; An' the hands that work the needles Myek us fix me eyes at them, For the pictor ov industry Is me little wife at hyem. Is me little wife, etc. Tho she's little,-she's a model O' what wimmin owt te be, An' aw bliss her when aw cuddle The bit form that clings te me; For the strength o' wor affeckshun, Aw cud nivvor find a nyem, Whe's as kind as she's gud-luckin, Is me little wife at hyem. Is me little wife, etc. Tho we heh wor share o' trubbil, The bit comfort that we knaw, Is we cannot hed myed dubbil, When one's willin te bee'd a', For when aw try te console her, Whey, for me she'll de the syem, An' aw'm thankful for the trissure I' me little wife at hyem. Wi' me little wife, etc. Wor greet luv for one anuther Myeks us happy when wor sad, Aw call me wife me "canny lass!" An' she calls me "her lad!" Just as if we still war kortin, Aye'n man, it's like the syem, The hunnymeun 'ill heh ne end, Wi' me little wife at hyem! Wi' me little wife, etc. -Joe Wilson |
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Subject: Lyr Add: Meggie Upstairs- Joe Wilson From: *#1 PEASANT* Date: 29 Apr 06 - 06:27 AM Meggie Upstairs. Teun-"Jinny Jones." Aw's weary, aw's wretched, aw's tired wi' waitin, An' sighin becas maw dear sweetheart's not here, Aw've tried soda wetter, besides beer an' brandy, But nowt i' the sort me sad feelins can cheer, Till agyen close beside us aw see bonny Meggie, The barmaid, that for us, aw's flaid little cares, But if she dissent like us, aw's pleased when aw see her, Aw's waitin te shak hands wi' Meggie upstairs. The beuts an' the waiter just laff at me sorrow, The barman believes what aw say's nowt but fun, An' the lasses around us get sick o' me playgin, An' say, "Will ye just once for a minnit be deun?" But oh, aw can beer a' they think or they menshun, Becas they knaw little o' maw poor affairs, An' aw whisper, "Cheer up, lad, ye may hev a chance yit, Then Nil Desperandum for Meggie upstairs! Aw's waitin wi'; payshuns cawse nowt else 'ill sarve us, It's Sunday, but fiveo'clock's sartin te cum, Then fresh as a daisy, aw'll see me sweet Meggie, An' myek luv wi' nonsense till aw's nearly dum; But me heart 'ill keep akin the time that wor laffin, If aw think for a moment she nowt at a' cares For the lad that's se constant te them that he fancies, An' aay hoo he fancies sweet Meggie up stairs! -Joe Wilson |
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Subject: Lyr Add: The Lass Wi' the Cast Iv her Eye From: *#1 PEASANT* Date: 29 Apr 06 - 06:18 AM The Lass Wi' the Cast Iv Her Eye. Teun- "The Mail Train Driver." They call me sweetheart Barbrey, An' a canny lass is she, Foaks say that she's ne beauty, Tho' she is one te me, For aw see charms that they cannet see, An' the time it's drawin nigh, When aw's off te meet that bonny lass, Wi' the cast iv her eye. Korus. Teun-"The Tin Pot Band." Ay, an' oh my!--aw cannet help but sigh For that bonny young lass wi' the cast iv her eye! The neybors say it's squintin, But oh, aw'll nivvor hed, For it's nowt like the cock-eye O' me lang unkil Ned, For the cast ont's se agreeable, An' it myeks her luck se shy, Tho' it twinkles when she's laffin se, Dis that cast iv her eye. Her tung, man, it's se bonny tee, Aw like te hear her tawk. The dyileckt se hyem-like, When wor oot for a wawk; Throo the vail she weers on Sunday neets, Her sweet glances myek us sigh, For like a buttor-flee in a summer-hoose, Is that cast iv her eye. Her fether keeps a keuk-shop, Weel knawn alang the street, So if aw cannet keep her, Whey, wor a' reet for meat! Man, it's eneuff te myek ye hung'ory, An' gan in an' buy a pie, Te see me lass stand behind the koonter, Wi' that cast iv her eye! -Joe Wilson |
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Subject: Lyr Add: The Flash Young Waiter- Joe Wilson From: *#1 PEASANT* Date: 29 Apr 06 - 06:10 AM The Flash Young Waiter. Teun-" Heh ye seen wor Jimmy?" Thor's nyen aw've seen like Bobby, He's drest se neat an' knobby, An' besides he's not se gobby As a lot o' lads ye'll see; He's gyen te be a waiter, Iv a big hotel a waiter, Ay, an' he's a real forst-rater, Whey, ye'll all agree wi' me. Korus- Teun- "The Porambilayter." Ay, an' he's a real forst-rater, He's such a bonny lad, that he sets the lasses mad, For they fancy the flash young waiter. They say he's turn'd a prood un, Wi' manners se intruding, But oh, he's not a rude un, Tho he's rethur fast aw'll say. He weers a clean white choker, He's like a maistor-broker, Or a parson that's a joker, If ye've seen a one that way. His claes thor owt but bad uns, Tho thor he's maistor's au duns, He's smart without the paddins, That a lot o' swells 'ill weer; Wiv a waiter's best indivvor, He lays the change doon clivor; They nivvor tyek't, no nivvor, For they knaw the laddy's dear! The way he hands the glasses, All uthers quite surpasses, An' the hearts of a' the lasses Beat te see the canny lad,-- He's smart, clean-myed, an' bonny, He's wun the luv o' mony, An' ill tyek the eyes ov ony That can like a bonny lad! -Joe Wilson |
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Subject: Lyr Add: Wor Fam'ley!- Joe Wilson From: *#1 PEASANT* Date: 29 Apr 06 - 06:02 AM Wor fam'Ley! Teun-"The Bells o' the Ball." Ay, man, aw'm as happy as happy can be, Wiv a nice little wife an' a fine fam'ley, Aw nivvor get wearied o' singin thor praise, For the comforts that roond about me they raise. Korus. Teun- Matilda Tilly." Thor's Tommy an' Fanny, thor byeth se canny, Wi' bella se blithe an' free, An' Sammy an' Fred, little Billy an' Ned, An' Mary me wife, an' me! There's Tommy the audist, a fine lad is he, He's nigh oot he's time, then a maistor he'll be; Then Fanny' the next, wiv her sewin masheen, An' a real stiddy hard-warkin lass she's been. Wor Bella's the next, an' aw hope that she'll be The syem as wor Fanny,--but wild is she, The canary upstairs cannet sing half as sweet, An' ne fair aw've seen that can dance se neat. Then Sammy's a queer un tho' just twelve eers aud, But aw's certain he'll turn oot a real sharp lad; He can play on the fiddle reet up te the mark, An' can rite he's awn nyem just as weel as a clark. Then Freddy, an' Billy, an' Ned gan te scheul, But when thor at hyem, whey, the hoose's quite full, For the wife, an' me-sel, an' the young uns myek nine, An' aw'm weel settisfied wi' this fam'ley o' mine. -Joe Wilson |
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Subject: Lyr Add: Geordy's Villossipeed! - Joe Wilson From: *#1 PEASANT* Date: 28 Apr 06 - 12:25 PM Geordy's Villossipeed! Teun-"Turn a little handle." Wor Geordey dissent care for whativor man can de, He thinks that he can de the syem, an' tries te let us see, For he'll scrammil up an' tummil doon, An' then gan rowlin roond the toon, Frae side te side, the clumsy cloon, On a pair o' wheels, the lazy loon, He might as weel get on the moon, An' tummil doon, an' crack his croon, As try te be a greet Villlossipeeder! Thor's a pair o' cruckt handles he wors wiv his feet, An' anuther greet big un te steer him a' reet, An' a saddle that mun heh been myed for a cat, Aw wundor he sits on't-the lad's getting fat. It weers a' his troosers an' he spoil'd a new pair, The ones that he's got on's wor throo, aw declare; Ye can see his shart throo them before an' behint, An' te watch his maneuvers wad myek ye a' squint. He call'st his philosophy an' lots o' queer nyems, But the lad's gawn demented, or nearly the syem; What queer things a life-time te poor foaks reveals, Did aw ivor imadgin wor Geordy on wheels? -Joe Wilson |
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Subject: Lyr Add: Mary Lister!- Joe Wilson From: *#1 PEASANT* Date: 28 Apr 06 - 12:14 PM Mary Lister! Teun-"The Fisherman's Dowter." If a nice little beer-hoose that's well situated, Te catch a' the tipplers that wander that way. Thor's a bloomin young widow, they call Mary Lister, The charm of the kumpney, se blithe an' se gay; She's just the landlady te captivate fellows That think they can hev ivry lass that they see, But Mary's thor maistor,--she myeks them a' jellous, An' the next mimmint fills a' thor fyeces wi' glee Korus An' thor's nyen can resist her, for sweet Mary Lister, The bloomin young widow a pictor te see. She's stoot, but she's bonny, an' her eyes hoo they sparkle, As she laffs at the jokes she heers pass'd at the bar, As' her tung's an attrackshun, the time that she's fillin The drink, or supplyin the swells wi' segars; She's quite the sensayshun, for a' that' around her Can hardly help drinkin as lang as she's there, Till the time cums for closing, then hyemwards they stagger Te dream o' the widow se cumley an' fair. They a' think thor chances keeps myekin advances, An' they think te thor-sels what a "canny sit doon," An' she keeps them a' up in't, for constantly smiling, They get ne doon-heartnere wi' seein her froon; But lads, she knaws better-for tyekin a husband Wad spoil all her bissniss,-an' Mary tell'd me-- "The bit ring on her finger needs ne uther marrow Then the keeper beside it-se bonny te see!" -Joe Wilson |
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Subject: Lyr Add: Aw Like Young Geordey Weel-Joe Wilson From: *#1 PEASANT* Date: 28 Apr 06 - 11:54 AM Aw Like Young Geordey Weel Tun-"The Sandstone Girl." Young Geordey he's a keelman, an' a canny lad is he, Aw've nivor seen a better luckin one upon the Kee, He's fairly teun me fancy, an' aw cannet help but feel, That aw've nivor seen a one yit aw can like half as weel. Korus. Geordey! Geordey!- man, aw like young Geordey weel, For aw've nivor seen a better yit that work'd upon the wettor! An' he says that he intends te be the skipper of a keel! Sum foaks may think his feators not as fine as they shud be, An' striter-luckin noses issent varry hard te see, But he seems his awn nose better then the best un ye cud find, An' aw'll tyek me oath on that for a' they say lov's blind. He smokes an' chows he's baccy just as weel as ony man, An' can drink as mony glasses as a decent body can; He can dance byeth neat an' clivor, for a pair o' clogs he wun, An' a medal tee for singin comic sangs an' myekin fun. He wun a pair o' blankets at a rafflin just last neet, An' he's muther says she'll nivor see us beaten for a sheet; He's gawn te row next Monday, ay, an' when the prize's wun, He says he'll buy the furnitor an' sittra varry seun. -Joe Wilson |
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Subject: Lyr Add: Reedin Aud Lettters!-Joe Wilson From: *#1 PEASANT* Date: 28 Apr 06 - 11:46 AM Reedin Aud Letters! Teun- "All Among the Barley." Aw've just red these aud letters, That's been se lang lockt by, A' what they've browt inte me mind, Te tell ye, whey, aw'll try; They've myed us think mair then aw de O' foaks an' times that's gyen, An' browt such queer reflecshuns On byeth lasses, lads, an' men That rote te me, an' nivor dreamt That pen an' in wad keep For eers to show the thowts an' words So dear, an' yet se cheap. Korus. Tho sum may give us plissure, An' sum may giv us pain, Aw like to reed aud letters, Tho but littil they contain. The forst wes frev a playmate, Where he talks o' days gyen by, An' menshuns when he went te scheul, The day he store me pie. He says he's turn'd a big un noo, An' lately bowt a keel. He's married an' got fower bairns, Aw think he's deein weel; The second's fev anuther mate, A bubbly heeded lad, But faith he's turned a clivor man, Scheul-maistor!-that's not bad. The next it's frev anuther frind, At least a frind aw thowt, He's axin for a pund or two, Aw wish aw'd lent him nowt. But what's the use o' whishing noo, He said that he wad pay, But money, or the sight o' him, Aw've not seen te this day; The next it's frev a chap that might Heh been forst-rate off noo, But he went to be a brewer, an' He drunk mair than he'd brew. The next it's frev a lass aw had; Shey says-"Aw's yor's till deeth." An' te see the kisses thor's i' this Wadd fairly stop yor breeth. She may be mine, but that aw doot, For hoo aw cannot see, Last Sunday she wes married tiv A chep-that issent me; And letters then ye see contains Vexashun an' delight, But if ye'll tyek a frind's advice Be careful hoo ye write! -Joe Wilson |
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Subject: Lyr Add: Geordey O! -Joe Wilson From: *#1 PEASANT* Date: 28 Apr 06 - 11:35 AM Geordey, O! Teun-"Daddy, O!" Iv a' the jolly cheps aw've seen, Thor's nyen like Geordey, happy Geordey, "Me hyem's me cassil, wife me queen, An' aw's thor king," says Geordey, O; "At least byeth wife an' bairns agree That aw's thor maistor, lord an' maistor, But hoo aw is, --aw cannet see, But still aw's king," says Geordey, O! Korus. Geordey, O, Geordey, O, Thor's nyen cums up te Geordey, O, For crackin a joke an' singin a sang, He licks them a' dis Geordey, O. Ye needint talk te him o' war, He dissent heed it, dissent need it, "Across me nose aw've got a scar, An' that's throo war," says Geordey, O; But if the family ivor fights, He always wi' them sticks weel te them,- "Aw stick up for me famly reets, An' that's just fair!" says Geordey, O. Teetoteleers needint talk te him, Aboot hard drinkin, quite free-thinkin, "Aw'll fill me glass up te the brim, If aw want as much," says Geordey, O; "But if aw think aw' ve had me share, Withoot yor pledges, dorty pledges, Wi' mind myed up te heh ne mair, Aw winnet touch," says Geordey, O. If trubbil rings the family's hearts, He's there is Geordey, canny Geordey, "Cheer up, me bairns, it might been warse, So comfort tyek," says Geordey O; He's quite the heart an' sowl o' hyem, Gud-temper'd Geordey, happy Geordey, A' away fre'd faith, he's just the syem, Such fun he'll myek, will Geordey, O. -Joe Wilson |
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Subject: Lyr Add: What that Man Might Heh Been!-Joe Wilso From: *#1 PEASANT* Date: 28 Apr 06 - 11:08 AM What that Man Might Heh Been! Teun-"Cum hyem, Fethur." One morning when walkin the streets wiv a frind, He call'd me attenshun away, Tiv a seedy-like man wiv a fyece full o' care, That gloomily pass'd on his way; Dissipashun had left its sad marks on his broo, An' poverty myed them mair keen, The frind at me side whispered-Joe, luck ye there! Can ye tell what that man might heh been? Thor once wes a time-when i' bizniss his-sel, He held a fine place I' the toon, An' bore a gud nyem as a nice sort o' man That few, varry few wad run doon; But the hyem that he had wassint peaceful aw've heard, He'd trubbles that cuddint be seen, So he flew te the drink-an' it myeks a chep sad, When he thinks what that man might heh been. He had wealth-as a scholar he gain'd greet renoon, An' respect frae the foaks that he knew; But noo, man, he's poor, for the money he had Like chaff on a windy day flew; He drinks day an' neet- but he's not biv his-sel, For thor's cases like this daily seen, An' hoo often ye'll hear iv a cumpny the words Wiv a sigh, "What that man might hev been!" -Joe Wilson |
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Subject: Lyr Add: Aw'll Sing Ye A Tyneside Sang-Joe Wilson From: *#1 PEASANT* Date: 28 Apr 06 - 11:07 AM Aw'll Sing Ye A Tyneside Sang Teun-"Rip Teerin Jimmie." Aw'll sing ye a Tyneside sang. An' aw's sure aw'll not be rang, For aw think ye'll like te heerd as weel as me,-- I' the dialect aw'll start, For when aw sing- Tyneside it hes te be. Korus. An' oh, me lads, it myeks me heart se glad, Te sing or hear a lokil sang; An' aw always like te see iv a cumpony, or a spree, Sum canny lad te sing a Tyneside sang. It puts us I' the mind O' the canny foaks se kind, That roond wor bonny firesides we see; An' it myeks us feel at hyem, An' aw hope that yor the syem, If ye arnet, whey aw's sure ye owt te be! But the greetest treat, aw say, Is whenivor aw'm away, I' sum friendly cumpny i' sum uther toon, When aw hear the glasses ring, An' a real Tynesider sing, An' the foaks's feet a' beatin te the tune. It myeks us feel se glad, That aw fancy aw'm a lad, Wi' the forst bit lokil sang upon me tung, An' the dialect's se fine, All around the "Coaly Tyne, It's a treat te hear the sangs se hyem-like sung -Joe Wilson |
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Subject: Lyr Add: It's Time Te Gan Te Bed-Joe Wilson From: *#1 PEASANT* Date: 28 Apr 06 - 10:47 AM It's Time Te Gan Te Bed. Teun-"What's a' the Steer, Kimmer." "It's time te gan te bed, Harry, 'It's time te gan te bed, Last neet aw cuiddint gan te sleep, The awful tung ye led, For drink wes I' yor heed, Harry, Ye waddint had yor jaw, Ye wakint a' the foaks upstairs, An' vext the foaks belaw. Korus. It's time te gan te bed, Harry, It's time to gan te bed, So put yor claes off, canny lad, An' cum away te bed. It's time te gan te bed, Harry, Wi' stopping oot se late, Aw's sure ye'll be me deeeth, ye will, Aw'll reckind frae this date; Ye needint fill yor pipe, Harry, Yor smoking a' the day, Ye'll not be fit for wark the morn, Oh, hinny, cum away. Ye once cud cum te bed, Harry, Like a sober, decent man, But noo ye sit te vex yor wife As lang as weel ye can; Aw's cawd here by me-sel, Harry,- Aw wish aw diddent care, But, oh, ye'll get yor deeth o' cawd Wi' sleepin I' that chair. Noo put that paper doon, Harry, Ye shannot reed the neet, Ye've kept us sittin up se lang Aw's sure it issent reet; Yor putting off yor claes, Harry, But faith yor varry slaw, Ye'll loss a quarter-day, an' then, Ye'll blame yor wife, ye knaw. -Joe Wilson |
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Subject: Lyr Add: Settle Doon- Joe Wilson From: *#1 PEASANT* Date: 28 Apr 06 - 01:03 AM Settled Doon. Teun-"Kill or Cure." When sittin be the fireside, me pipe se calmly smoking, Or playin wi' the bits o' bairns, or wi' the aud wife jokin, Aw's as happy, if not happier, than if aw had a croon, For, me lads, aw's what aw like te be- that's nicely settled doon. Korus. Then wire in ! me lads, an' join us i' the tune, For noo aw's what aw like te be- That's nicely settled down! Aw've plenty wark, thenk God for that,-for wark brings real injoyment, An' men can nivor settle doon without they've got imployument; An' at neets aw often tyek the wife te walk aboot the toon, An' we feel se calm an' happy like becas wor settled doon. Then Jack an' Tom byeth gan te scheul, se willin, --thats a plissure, Thor byeth gud lads, aw's sure they are,-them here's wor little trissure, That's little Bell, just six munse aud, she's noddiin te the tune Her muther sings, as if she knew wor nicely settled doon. The hoose it maynit be se grand as sum that aw cud menshun, But what thor's int's wor awn, lads,-an' ye'll nivor hear dissenshun Betwixt he wife an'me,-for neethor like te cawse a froon, Wor happy an' wor byeth content becas wor settled doon. -Joe Wilson |
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Subject: Lyr Add: The Miseries O' Shiftin-Joe Wilson From: *#1 PEASANT* Date: 28 Apr 06 - 12:50 AM The Miseries O' Shiftin Teun- "Try a little Dancin." Iv a' the troubles that thor is, Thor's nyen like weary shiftin, Besides the wark it spoils the things, Ne matter what yor liftin;- For Mistress Smith, that leev'd next door, When shiftin te the second floor Alang the street, caused sic a stir The day she started shiftin! Korus. Iv a' the troubles that thor is, Thor's nyen like weary shiftin, Besides the wark it spoils the things Ne matter what yor liftin. The next day efter that, she stud Bewilder'd like an' weary, Te put things I' thor place she meant, Wi' spirits not se cheery; She luckt aboot, but where te start She diddent knaw, she quite lost heart Te try an' myek the hoose luck smart, Wes puzzling efter shiftin. Her breest was ful o' heavy sighs, The draw'rs wes full o' scratches, Says she-"If aw shift ony mair Aw'd like te see them catch us;" The clock weights rol'd aboot the floor She hardly knew which way te stir, An' wish'd she'd only knawn before The miseries o' shiftin. Her cheeny cups,-she'd only two, Wes fairly smash'd te shivers, Alang the tyeble ink an' oil Wes runnin like two rivers; The feather bed, se clean last neet, Wes thick o' dirt, for I' the street They'd let it fall, an' lost a sheet Throo nowt else but the shiftin. The tyebel creakt upon its legs, Thy whole consarn wes craisin, She lifted bundles here an' there, An' broke the wesh-hand baisin; She pickt things up, then let them fall, An' knockt her heed agyen the wall, Her only bairn begun te squall, Te still myek warse the shiftin. Frae morn te neet she struggled on, Byeth in an' oot o' payshuns, An' wish'd her man wes hyem frae wark, On this-this sad occashun; Te work at neet he thowt a shem, He thowt she'd better did alien, So faith, he diddent hurry hyem, He diddent fancy shiftin. The chair-backs diddent seem te care For legs that they belang'd te, The luckin-glass wes nicely scraped, The bed wes put up rang tee, For scaircely had they had a snore, When doon they fell upon the floor. \An' Jinny cursed, an' Harry swore The devil tyek the shiftin. -Joe Wilson |
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Subject: Lyr Add: Janey Foster-Joe Wilson From: *#1 PEASANT* Date: 28 Apr 06 - 12:35 AM aney Foster Teun- "Apple Praties." Aw think o' Janey Foster when aw's sittin be the fireside, An' sigh for Janey Foster, cas aw's sittin there me-sel; Aw wander throo the streets as if aw diddent knaw where aw wes gawn, An' whisper te me-sel the thowts aw darnet uthers tell; Tho sweet reflecshuns cheer us when aw's thinking o' maw canny lass, The time's byeth lang an' dreary till aw meet me luv agyen, For since aw left the toon she's in, aw wish that aw had browt her wis, Or else aw wish that Janey just had let me heart alien. The first time that aw menshun'd luv, she hung her heed as if I' pain, An' still she seemed tho she wes pleased at what aw just had said,-- Says she-"Aw've heard ye hev a lass-anuther lass that's far away," An' when she said these words te me, poor thing, she luckt quite flaid; But when aw tell'd her that aw'd not, she laid her heed upon me breest,-- Says aw-"Maw canny sweetheart, faith aw heh ne lass but ye;" Her lips met mine, not once or twice, but twice or thrice, an' ower agyen, An' me heart's wi' Janey Foster, tho she's far away frae me. She handed me her photograph the neet before aw com away, Says she-"Mind ye'll tyek care o' that, an' sumtimes think o' me;" Says aw-"Aw hope ye'll de the syem"--aw'd gien her mine the day before,-- Says she- "Aw will,"--an' cried, an' aw believe that aw cried tee, At least aw thowt me heart wad brick; but no, she teuk gud care o' that, For Janey hes me heart as whole as ony heart can be; Its sinful,-but aw wish the time away that keeps me luv frae me, Me heart's wi' Janey Foster till the varry day aw dee. -Joe Wilson |
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Subject: Lyr Add: Dan's Apprehension-Joe Wilson From: *#1 PEASANT* Date: 28 Apr 06 - 12:18 AM Dan's Apprehension. Teun-"The Geuse Fair." Aw'll tell y' a lark aboot a chep, A famous constart man, That once cud bring the hooses doon,-- Just noo aw'll call him Dan. It waddint de te tell his nyem, It might amuse a few, But still 'twad de ne gud te them If his real nyem they knew: He used te sing at consarts i' The country roond aboot, A real gud-hearted jolly sowl, O' that thor is ne doot. He got engaged te sing sum sangs, An' keep up his renoon, At a quiet little country place Not ten miles frae the toon; He packt his carpet-bag wi' things Te suit myest ivry age, False whiskers, paint, an' claes an' wigs, He needed for the stage; Then off he set- got landed there, An' pleased the foaks se weel, They waddint let him cum away Till tipsy he shud feel. He sat an' drunk till late at neet, The last train lang had gyen, So Dan myed up his mind te leave An' walk the distance hyem; He flung his bag across his back, An' bid them a' gud neet, Then hurried on as best he cud, An' seun we soot o' seet,-- A mile between the hoose an' him He seun had put between, But heere's just where the fun begins, A scene that's seldum seen. Two pollis cumin by that way, Luckt hard an' queer at Dan, Byeth on the watch for sum greet thief, They teuk him for the man; A pair o' bracelets on his wrists, Afore poor Dan cud wink, Wes thrust,-an' then they teuk his bag, He haddint time te think, Before they march'd him tiv a hoose He'd nivor seen before, An' then they threw him iv a cell, An' then they lockt the door. Poor Dan at forst wes stupefied, For drink wes iv his heed, But when he fund oot where he was, His yells wad wake the deed; The polis byeth luckt iv his bag. Wi' wide an' greedy eyes, An' ivrything they fund, they thowt Wes this greet thief's disguise,- They waddint lissen te the words He tried to myek them hear, But thowt o' praise an' greet rewards Next morning they wad share. The morning com-the clerk wes there, The polis tell'd thor case, Then browt Dan oot--wi' oaths he swore He'd myek them tyck his place; For when he tell'd them what he wes, They swore he tell'd a lee, Until he drest an' sung a sang, An' then they knowt it spree; But Dan the spree he cuddin't see Until he myed them pay Expensis-an' they had te did Afore he'd gan away. -Joe Wilson |
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Subject: Lyr Add: Superstishus Sally-Joe Wilson From: *#1 PEASANT* Date: 28 Apr 06 - 12:16 AM Superstishus Sally. Teun- Maw Boy Tommy." Whe is't that puts the foaks aboot? Whey, Superstishus Sally; An' fills the breest wi' pain an' doot, Whey, Superstishus Sally; She'll give a groan an' shake her heed, An' talk aboot sumbody deed, An' sweet thor deeth she lang forseed, A queer aud wife is Sally. If stawks or leaves float I' the cup, At tea, ye'll hear aud Sally Byeth sigh an' say thor's sumthin up, "Thor strangers," whispers Sally; An' if the candle-wick burns lang Wi' snots, she starts te myek a sang, An' growls, an' sweers thor's sumthink rang, "It's a bad sign," says aud Sally. An' if a dog howls I' the street Wy'll hear the moans o' Sally; She'll nivor sleep a wink that neet, Or let ye sleep will Sally; She sweers it's always signs o' deeth, She'll ring her hands an' grind her teeth, An' myek the neybors haud thor breeth, A deevil's plague is Sally. The witches that ye've red aboot, Wad heh ne chance wi' Sally, She myeks reed fyeces white as cloot Dis Superstishus Sally; Wi' chawkin strokes upon a tray, She leads byeth young an' aud astray, An' silly-like, ye'll hear them say, "A clivor wife's aud Sally." -Joe Wilson |
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Subject: Lyr Add: What Myed Ye Get the Bag?-Joe Wilson From: *#1 PEASANT* Date: 28 Apr 06 - 12:13 AM What Myed Ye Get the Bag? Teun-"Trab, trab." "Oh, Jack, aw's nearly crazy, Aw wish that aw wes deed!" I' grief, says Mistress Vaisey, "Ye'll drive us oot me heed; Ye knaw that wark it's slack, What myed ye get the sack? Oh, Jack, Jack, Jack, Ye'll drive us mad, What myed ye get the bag? The cupboard's nearly empy, Thor's ne tick at the shop; The landlord says we'll heh te pay If we intend te stop; Wor ower heed I' debt, Eneuf te myek us fret. Oh, Jack, etc. Nan Thomsin lent us sixpence, Whenivor will aw paid? Forbye a bag o' roondy coals Aw gat frae Mistress Braid; Me stockins' full o' holes, Me best beuts hes ne soles. Oh, Jack, etc. Next Sunday's Tommy's chrisnin, We'll hev te put that off, For if we heh ne bottle, The neybors a' wad scoff; Besides the cheese an' breed, But that wor-sels we'll need. Oh, Jack, etc. Them's Dolly's claes aw'm mendin, Thor raggy as can be, O' patches thor's ne endin, Will she get owt frae ye? An' Jimmy's shoes thor bad, His feet's byeth damp an' cad. Oh, Jack, etc. Ye say yor foreman's sawsy,. An' what if he shud be? Thor's mnyen aw've seen te beat ye, He issent warse than ye; Ye've gien him nowt but jaw, An' that's the cawse, aw knaw. Oh, Jack, Jack, Jack, Ye'll drive us mad, That's hoo ye've got the bag!" -Joe Wilson |
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Subject: Lyr Add: Hoo Te Myek Mischeef!-Joe Wilson From: *#1 PEASANT* Date: 27 Apr 06 - 02:36 PM Hoo Te Myek Mischeef! Teun- " The Donkey Cairt." One Day Nan Broon an' Mary Green wes talkin i' the yard. Thor words drew me attenshun, so aw lissen'd till aw heard What neybors say te neybors when they think nebody near. What little words myeks greet mischeef, aw' ll try te let ye hear-- For Nanny Broon an' Mary Green that day said quite eneuff Te myek the yard a scene o' strife wi' foaks byeth wild an' ruff. Korus. For oh, but a mischeevous tung 'Ill myek the breest wi' trouble rung, Ye'll find oot when the sang aw've sung, That's just exactly true. Says Mary Green-"Last neet as aw wes waitin for me man, Aw's sure twes efter half-past twelve, aw heard the toon clock gan, Aw heard two voices i'; the yard,-aw thot aw knew them tee, Aw luckt oot the stair-heed window an' whe else shud aw see, But Fanny Edwards wiv a chep, aw's sure twes Davie Swan, He had his airms aroond her waist, an' he's a married man!" Says Nanny Broon- "Faith, Mistress Green, aw think yor nowt but reet, For Mistress Jonsin, at the club, declared, the tuther neet, That Fannuy Edwards wes ne better then a lass shud be, An' Mistress Foster said the syem te Mistress Tate an' me, Aw's sure aw really think me-sel the lass is little gud. She's not fit even for a lad like lazy Charley Wood." Nan Brooon an' Mary went away, but late that varry neet Aw heard sic noises i' the yard that woke up a' the street, For Nanny Broon had tell'd a frind what Mary Green had said, An' Mary Green had deun the syem an' lots o' mischeef myed, Fopr Mistress Edwards got te knaw her dowtor wes run doon, So oot she cum te clear thor nyem afore myest a' the toon. Yung Fanny tee com tiv her aid, an' went to Mary Green. Says she--" Ye've said a vast aboot last neet what ye had seen. Ye say ye saw us i' the yard wi' sum aud married man, An' if ye want to knaw the truth that man wes just yor awn. He met us cummin throo the street an' set us te the door, Aw didn't want ne mischeef or aw'd tell'd ye that before." Directly Fanny spoke these words, wi' yells the row begun, An' Mistress Mary Green's gud-man rued sairly what he'd deun. She'd heard it hinted he waes false, an' noo she fund it true, 'The mischeef ended wiv her-sel that she begun te brew; For days an' weeks it lasted, the talk ov a' the toon, An' Mary Green te myek things warse, fell oot wi' Nancy Broon. -Joe Wilson |
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Subject: Lyr Add: Fightin Jim!- Joe Wilson From: *#1 PEASANT* Date: 27 Apr 06 - 02:11 PM Fightin Jim! Teun-"Katey's Letter." "What mun aw de? " says Mary Gee, "me man's that awful lazy, Aw's oftin thinkin te me-sel he's sure te drive us crazy; An nivor thowt the lad that once call'd me his "little daisy". Wad blight the floo'er he praised se much, an' myek us sigh for him. "Aw's sure aw's oftin thinkin that the lad's gawn oot his senses, Since he left wark, for once he tried myest ivrything te mense us; But noo he nivor gives a hint aboot the week's expensis, Aw hev te keep the hoose me-sel, as weel as keepin him. "He once wes a real decent lad, an' drest jus like a drapeer, Until he red Bell's Life, or sum uther sportin paper; Theen he bowt a pair o' boxin gluves, te show his fightin capers, An' noo amang a gang o' blacks they call him Fightin Jim. "Since then he's play'd at dominones, an' a' sic wicked matches, An' nivor shows he's fyeece i' doors withoot it's full o' scratches; An' aw heh te pay for ivrything like stickin plaistor patches, Oh, aw'm weery o' the life that aw leed wi' Fightin Jim. "The warst on't if he's ivor paid-ye knaw that he's a rash un, He hammers me when he comes hyem, on me he vents his pashun; But if he' tries that on agyen, aw'll give him such a cawshun, Aw'll let himk see what aw can de, aw'll be a match for him. "He's got his hair cut short, an' a' te show that he's a bright un, An' if a frind cums te the hoose, he talks 'boot nowt but fightin; Aw only wish he'd tell'd us that i' that he teuk delite in, Afore he married me, the brute; aw'll leave the hoose an' him!" -Joe Wilson |
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Subject: Lyr Add: Hoo Te Leeve At Lodjins!-Joe Wilson From: *#1 PEASANT* Date: 27 Apr 06 - 01:24 PM Hoo Te Leevee At Lodjins! Teun-"The Mangil." "Yor gan te leeve the toon, me lad, Aw's sure the thowt on't myeks us sad, Wes Fanny Hedley's greetin tiv her son; "But think o' me when yor away, An' send a letter ivry day Te let yor muther knaw hoo ye get on; An' if ye can find the syem Cumfort that ye've had at hyem, It 'ill warm yor muther's heart Te hear the gud ye've deun!" Korus. "But oh, me lad, it 'ill myek you muther sad, If she thinks ye've got bad lodjins; So think o' what aw say, send a letter ivry day, An' aw'll tell ye hoo te leeve when yor at lodjins! "Aw think ye 'd better keep yor-sel O' meat, but dinnet tyek much yell; Ye knaw twes just throo that ye got the bag; It's that that's myed ye leave the toon, An' browt yor muther's sporits doon, An' myed ye that ye hardly hev a rag. But aw'll tell ye what te de, If ye only follow me, An' te keep yoursel wi' cumfort Whey,--ye needint fag! "When yor away, --just think o' me, Ye knaw yor just as fond o' tea, An' oonce or two 'ill sarve ye a' the week; An' coffee, whey, a quarter pund Ye'll get at ony shop weel grund, If ye want mair ye only need te speak; And thor's shuggor ye'll want te, Whey aw think a pund might de, Tho aw knaw when yor at hyem Ye like yor tea se sweet! 'Then ye can buy a loaf o' breed, An' mair than that if ye shud need, A half-a-pund o' butter still might sarve; For dinner, heve a joint that's hot, An' what thor's left, whey then ye've got Sum cad meat that the next day ye may carve; A piece o' bacon, nice an' sweet, Or a bloater iv a neet 'Ill tyest yor gob, but aw's sure That's mair then ye desarve! "An' if ye buy a bit o' floor, The lanlady 'ill myek, aw's sure, A dumplin that 'ill please ye if she's owt, An' pot-stuff if ye want at a', Te myek ye broth, just let them knaw, An' tetties at the syem time may be bowt; But it 'ill only be yor falt If ye lay owt oot for salt Or any little things that ye Can get for nowt!" -Joe Wilson |
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Subject: Lyr Add: Hannah's Black Eye-Joe Wilson From: *#1 PEASANT* Date: 27 Apr 06 - 12:51 PM Hannah's Black Eye Teun-"She's Black." Hannah's got her eye blackt, but hoo it wes deun Aw knaw little mair then the man i' the meun; It might been for fairs or it might been for fun, But it spoils her gud lucks ne matther hoo deun! She said twes a bed-post she struck i' the dark, Then said it wes deun throo a little bit lark Wi' Peggy the mangil wife doon i' the lane; But Peggy said diffrint, an' hinted "Mick Kane." Ye'll a' understand that Mick Kane he's a black, He nivor gets wark but he seun gets the sack; He's lazy, he's thievish, an' ivrything bad, An' still Hanna's teun the big loon for her lad! Aw's sartin it's him that's disfigor'd her eye, An' silly-like she te conceal him 'iil try; The bonny bright eye that once dazzled the view's As black as her life 'ill be a' the way throo. Aw mean if she marries the good-for-nowt cull She'll sup bitter draughts frev a cup ower full; For if before marridge te strike her's his plan, What will he de tiv her shud he be her man? Aw've oftin teun notis hoo lasses 'ill hide Ill treatmint frae them that shud make them thor pride; But time works the changes!--the muther an' wife Wen wed-leeve te rue a' the days o' thor life! -Joe Wilson |
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Subject: Lyr Add: The Day His Wife Wes Barried- Joe Wilson From: *#1 PEASANT* Date: 27 Apr 06 - 12:36 PM The Day His Wife Wes Barried Teun-"Martha the Milkman's Dowtor" Beside a newly hapt up grave. The day his wife was barried, Stood tipsy Dick,--the only one That i' the churchyard tarried; He luckt doon at the grass an' clay That hid his wife for ivor, Then wip'd his eye an' heav'd a sigh, His feelins myed him shiver.-- Korus. Oh, sad is me life, for aw;ve lost me luver, Me wife's byeth deed an' barried; Oh, mercy me, what mun aw de? Wor Janey's deed an' barried! "Fareweel," says he, "maw canny lass Yor happy sowl's departed, Ye've left us i' this weary world, Aw's sure aw's broken-hearted; The voice that myed us lowp wi' joy, When fightin wi' the neybors, Noo lies at rest-ne mair te pest Wiv it's mischeevus labours. "Them eyes that teuk the heart frae me Just two eers gyen the races, Ne mair 'ill shine, or wink, or stare; Aw think aw see yor graces When cummin frae the moor at neet, Aw mind the neet wes rainy, But, faith, an cuddint see a leg Like yor's, maw cumley Janey! "Them lips that oftin myed us wish Aw had the chance te kiss them, Ne mair 'ill move te treat yor luv, Aw's sartin that aw'll miss them; The dimpled cheek, an' yallow broo, That show'd ne signs o' thinkin, Ne mair aw'll see the sharp nose tee That smelt when aw'd been drinkin. "But, lass, aw'll miss ye i' the bed That nivor needed warmin; Aw'll mis the cheek se close te mine, The squeezin close an' charmin; Ne mair aw'll find yor big fat airms Cum roond me neck se handy, That myed us throo the neet forget Throo day-time ye wor randy! "Fareweel, aw'll try te cheer me-sel, Aw cannet stop ne langer, Te find releef aw'll droon me greef, I'beer, or sumthink stranger; Aw's sure te find sum uther lass Te tyek yor place te cuddle,-- Aw've still sum feunril money left, Fareweel,-aw's on the fuddil!" -Joe Wilson |
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Subject: Lyr Add: Recknin' For the Pay!-Joe Wilson From: *#1 PEASANT* Date: 23 Apr 06 - 01:07 PM Recknin' For the Pay Teun- "Joe an' Mary Ann." "Oh, the morrow's the pay," says Jacob Young, "An' aw've thorty bob te draw, But hoo much o' that belangs te me-sel, When aw's sure aw hardly knaw. Korus. But aw's glad that it's the pay, Aw's glad that it's the pay. For whativor aw may de, Whey aw's sure te hev a spree, Aw always myek't that way. Forst-thor's twelve shillins for me board an' lodge, An' aw mun pay that this week; They gov us a hint when aw paid them short, Uther lodjins aw might seek! Then the minadge man's sure te call this week, But he's sure te gan away, It's just three months since aw paid him a bob, An' aw think that that's gud pay! Then aw got ten glasses o' beer on tick At the hoose that's doon the raw; If the lanlord says that he wants ony mair, Aw'll not pay him owt at a'! Thor's five shillins aw borrowed frae Davie Smith, Whey, aw think aw'll pay him three, An' the two that's left 'ill de for the basirn That they say belangs te me! But surely the toon 'ill turn over het, If aw shud gan on that way, If aw act like a man an' pay what aw can, Aw'll still hev a spree at the pay!" -Joe Wilson |
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Subject: Lyr Add: Keep The Kettle Boilin!-Joe Wilson From: *#1 PEASANT* Date: 23 Apr 06 - 12:53 PM Keep The Kettle Boilin! Teun-"Sally cum up!" Aw's happy as a man can be, The mornin brings ne care te me, Except a care aw'll tell te ye,--- That's keep the kettle boilin! Is thor owt te glad the eye Se much as when yor dry, As te see the fire bleezin high, An' the fam'ly kettle boilin? Korus. Aw struggle throo the world te thrive, An object keeps me mind alive, Aw've always deun, an' will contrive Te keep the kettle boillin! When fortune smiles wiv all its grace, An' roond the hearth-styen tyeks her place, Aw bliss the chance thor's i' the case Te keep the kettle boilin! An' what's left- aw store away, For fear a rainy day Might cum te spoil us myekin hay, Or stop the kettle boilin! Aw watch the cumfort o' the hoose, Aw like te see the fam'ly crouse, So ivry effort weel aw use Te keep the kettle boilin Te sail smoothly wi' the tide Aw try wiv honest pride, Wi' thowts o' them that's be me side, Te keep the kettle boilin. An' if be chance aw hap te see Sum canny foaks injoy a spree, Aw de the best that aw can de Te keep the kettle boilin! An' aw's not affraid te sing, For that's the varry thing Te myek a man join i' the ring Te keep the kettle boilin! Aw like me pipe, aw like me gill, Aw like te hev me stomach's fill; But nivor mean te run a bill Te stop the kettle boilin! Man, aw's happy a' the day, So think o' what aw say, Think o' yor means,-an' leeve that way, An' keep the kettle boilin! -Joe Wilson |
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Subject: Lyr Add: Wor Jinny's Fell Oot Wiv her Lad!-Joe Wi From: *#1 PEASANT* Date: 23 Apr 06 - 12:43 PM Wor Jinny's Fell Oot Wiv Her Lad! Teun-"Luck at the Clock!" Wor Jinny's sighin, an' always crying, Sighin an' moanin tghe whole day lang, Sighin an' moanin, cryin an' groanin, That's myed us sure thor wes sumthin rang: She's not se tidy, her hair's not curly, The way she always wor'd before, She talks at random, an' lucks se silly, An' what de ye think's the cawse o' the stir? Korus. Oh my, wor Jinny's fell oot wiv her lad, Oh dear, aw nivor saw her se sad, Oh my, ye wad actwilly say she wes bad; She'll fret an' she'll cry wi' monny a sigh, Aboot nowt but her lad! An' if yor funnin on owt that's stunnin, She always thinks it's meant for her, The varry thimmel she weers 'ill trimmil If a sharpish knock cums te the door; She's turn'd se snappish, se soor, an' crabby, Aw sumtimes doot that she's the syem, Aw's sure me muther, an' Bob, me bruther, Can hardly beleeve they leeve at hyem! Aw've seen the dinner, as aw'm a sinner, Brunt just like sinders black an' dry, Tho once we praised her for what she myed us, She noo keeps spoilin byeth puddin an' pie:-- Aw saw Tom Goddin, her aud lad noddin, As he pass'd by the tuther neet, But her heed she toss'd it se independint, Then cried heart-broken, when oot ov his seet! |
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Subject: Lyr Add: Cum Hyem I' Gud Time!- Joe Wilson From: GUEST,Conrad Bladey Date: 23 Apr 06 - 12:02 PM Cum Hyem I' Gud Time! Teun-"The Braw Young Lad." Oh, Bill, if ye'll only cum hyem i' gud time, Yor supper aw'll myek, an' the beer shall be prime, So thinkk o' me words an' cum hyem i' gud time, An' dinnet for once stop lang! Maw canny gud man just think o' yor wife Ye leeve the neet, the weary neet, Te sit i' the hoose biv her-sel, till yor feet Cums staggoring hyem a' rang. Thor's mony a neet aw've sat till me eye Wes sair an' dry, wi' mony a sigh, An' thowt ivry step wes yors that come nigh, They pass'd, then aw knew aw wes rang; Can ye not stop at hyem one neet i' the week? Ye can heh yor gill beside us, Bill, An' aw'll sit be yor side an' sew wi' gud will, An' Jinny shall sing ye a sang. Is aw not like the syem that aw used te be? That ye leeve the hoose, se clean an' doose, Ye once used to say wes yor pallis se croose, Aw's sartin yor gan a' rang; The hoose is as clean as it ivor can be, The bit wark o' me te comfort ye, An' aw'll de ivrything that a wummin can de Te save yor breest the least pang! Just luck at the little bit bairn i' me lap, That smiles se sweet as tho twad entreat That ye'd stop at hyem be me side for the neet, If ye dinnet, aw's sure yor rang; Oh, Bill, if ye'll only cum hyem i' gud time, Yor supper aw'll myek an' the beer shall be prime, So think o' me words an' cum hyem i' gud time, An' dinnet for once stop lang! -Joe Wilson |
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Subject: Lyr Add: Little Johnny Robinson-Joe Wilson From: *#1 PEASANT* Date: 23 Apr 06 - 10:53 AM Little Johnny Robinson. Teun-"Castles in the Air" Little Johnny, blithe and bonny, Sits se canny in his chair, Hoo can he help but be a pet Wi' ivrybody there? Ay, an' ivrybody likes him, When they see his sparklin eyes, Glist'nin wi' thor bright expression, Innocence an' sweet surprise. Little Johnny, blithe an' bonny, Sits content uppon yor knee, Full o' fun an' full o' mishchief, Happy as a bairn can be:- Such a welcum for his fethur, Bright wi' joy his eyes 'ill gleam, Such a welcum for his muther, Equal tiv a muther's dream. May young Johny's days be mony, May they be as glad as noo, May the ties of sweet affection Always be se kind an' true; Gladly wi' thor little treasure, May they spend thor happy days; May his parents live te bless him, May he always gain thor praise. -Joe Wilson *this goes well with an anglican hymn for lent but cant remember the name of the tune.... |
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Subject: Lyr Add: Think O' The Little AOnes At Hyem!- Joe From: *#1 PEASANT* Date: 23 Apr 06 - 09:43 AM Think O' The Little Ones At Hyem! Teun- "Thump, thump." Oh! dinnet drink ne mair; Hev a care, lad-hev a care For the little ones left be thor-sels at hyem: They heh ne muther noo, An' she tell'd ye te be true, On her death-bed, te be kind an' true te them. Korus. Then think o' the little ones at hyem, lad-- Thnk o'yor canny bairns at hyem: They heh ne muther noo, An' they've lost the care they knew, So be careful, an' be always kind te them. She fretted her last days, When she thowt aboot yor ways, An' her heart wes fairly broken when she dee'd. She knew hoo thowtless ye Had been, an' wes like te be, An' she wundor'd whe'd attend them i' thor need. Her last words wes for ye, When she whisper'd, "Try an' be A gud fgethur te the bairns aw'm forced to leeve!" Can yue luck i' thor eyes, An' hear therir heart-rendin' cries? God help them! for thor muther they mun grieve. Heh sum luv for yor awn; Be a man, ay, be a man; Let them see thor's one still left te care for them. So let yor drinkin' end, For on ye they a' depend; Hev a care, man, for the little ones at hyem. -Joe Wilson |
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Subject: Lyr Add: Maw Bonny Strite-hair'd Lad!-Joe Wilson From: *#1 PEASANT* Date: 23 Apr 06 - 09:25 AM Maw Bonny Strite-Hair'd Lad! Teun- "Peggy Bawn." On Newcassel Jail's dark gloomy walls Sally Turnbull sadly gazed, Sigh efter sigh broke throo her lips, An then her voice she raised:- "Maw bonny son!-oh, my bonny bairn Tho he's got six munse i' quad, He's still me awn, he''s me pet, me Bill, He's me bonny strite-hair'd lad! "Twes just last Seturday efterneun 'Poor Bill went oot for a wark, Te the Market, for he likes that place, But he nivvor mair com back, For a paltry rabbit teuk his eye, An' his appetite's not bad, So he teuk't, tho mind ye, just on tick, Tid me bonny strite-hair'd lad! "But the warst on't he had nivvor axt The man's permisshun te did, An' a big fat Bobby i' private claes, Thowt wor Bill had ne reet wid; So he teuk him te the stayshun hoose, An' it's nearly drove us mad, A better-like lad nivvor suffer'd i' quad Then me bonny strite-haired lad! "Aw's sure he wad paid for'd there an' then, If he'd had the money, poor lad, He always wes fond ov a rabbit-pie, An' black puddins in't myed him glad; In fact, he liked rabbits at ony time, An' at Koorsins, - forst i' the squad, A fine bred bul-an-tarrier bitch Wes the pride o' me strite-hair'd lad! "Not Guilty! he said i' the kort as plain As ivvor a body cud said, An' still they waddent believe his words,-- But Billy they cannot degrade P the eyes of his muther, fond an' true, Tho thor's nyen i' the world se bad, He'll still find a place i'; the por aud heart, That greets for her strite-hair'd lad1" -Joe Wilson |
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Subject: Lyr Add: Benny 'Ill Not Gan Te Scheull!-Joe Wilso From: *#1 PEASANT* Date: 23 Apr 06 - 09:06 AM Benny 'Ill not Gan Te Scheul! Teun--"The Croppy Boy." "Me eyes thor sair, an' me heart is full, Cas me bony bairn he'll not gawn te scheul; Tho he's ten eers aud, he's as big a dunce As ivor ye'll see wi' yor two eyes at once." Korus. Teun- Banks o' Benlomond." "Benny's gan the rang road, he's gan the road te ruin, An' the feelins ov his muther he's distressin,, For his heed's byeth thick an' dull, an' he plays the wag frae scheul, An' he winnet stop at hyem an' lairn his lesson!" "It's an awful thing-mind, it is indeed, Te think that he cannot yit even reed His nyem, if it's put before his eyes: But he's like his fethur-an' he was nivor wise! "But he's sure te rue'd when it's over late, An' blame his muther for his ignorant state; He'll want te reed when he cannet lairn,-- For a man can nivvor say A, B, C's like a bairn! "His fethur just laffs at the silly lad, But what pleases him myeks the muther bad; For hoo can Ben read if he cannet spell,-- Then God help the lad, for he cannet help his-sel!" --Joe Wilson |
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