Subject: Sunday Neets At Jesmond Gardens
From:
*#1 PEASANT*
Date: 26 Mar 02 - 08:08 PM
Sunday Neets at Jesmond Gardens Tune: Paddy is the Boy On a fine Sunday neet,
Whey ye'll see sic a seet
If ye wandor alang
Mid the fashunable thrang,
That see oft bend thor way
At the close o' the day
Te swaggor round famed Jesmond Gardens;
Where thor's byeth yung an aud
I' thor Sunday claes clad,
Luckin happy an' glad,
As they join i' the squad,
For it's only but reet
On a fine Sunday neet,
They shud a' hev a walk throo the Gardens. Chorus: An' ye'll think as ye wink
At the lass that may pass,
That the spree that ye see,
An' the treat's forst-class,
For a' throo the toon ye'll find nowt te compete
Wi' swaggrin roond the Gardens on a fine Sunday neet. There ye'll see lad an' lass
As they sit on the grass,
An' they whispor quite law,
Tho thor words ye might knaw;
But between ye an' me
We had best let them be,
An' just tyek a walk throo the Gardens.
Where thor's hoops sic a size,
That ye open yor eyes
An' ye gaze wi' surprize
On the dust they myek rise;
But the forms they contain
Myek ye wishful te gain
A sweet smile frae the queens at the Gardens. Wiv a lot o' these belles,
Aw mean mang the fine swells,
As a fact it's been said-
The manadge man's not paid,
But the men te, as weel,
Wi' sic fellows can deal,
An' set thor sells off at the Gardens.
Man, it's fops just like these
That the lasses can please,
Wiv a tung that can teaze
Or myek glad, wi' the breeze,
For if sweethearts ye seek,
Ye need nowt but gud cheek,
An' thor's plenty te get at the Gardens. Thor's the married man tee,
Luckin radiant wi' glee,
Wiv his bairns an' his wife,
A sweet pictor o'life;
When vile uthers withoot,
For thor prey prowl aboot,
A slur an' disgrace te the gardens
Lads, Thor's fine lasses there,
Brightest gems o' the fair,
Wi' sic fine beuks o' prayer
I' thor hands, aw declare,
That wad myek ye beleeve
They cud nivor deceeve,
But they'll often leave church for the Gardens. Then thor's uthers that think
Thor's mair plissure i' drink,
Wiv a pipe an' a glass
Sit an' joke as foaks pass;
But the pair that aw'd see
Is the cupple that's free
Frae the crood, myekin luv, at the Gardens
Cud owt better be seen
Than a cupple, soreen,
Airm in airm, neet an' clean,
Wawkin doon by the Dene?
An' at hyem-- when they kiss
When they pairt--hoo they bliss
The grand neet that they've spent at the Gardens.
-Source: Joe Wilson, Tyneside Songs and Drolleries
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