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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: 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: 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: 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: 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: 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: 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: 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: 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: 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: 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: 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: 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: 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: 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: 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: 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: 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: 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: 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: Ye've Lost A Whole Half-Croon! From: *#1 PEASANT* Date: 30 Apr 06 - 11:48 AM Ye've Lost A whole Half-Croon! Teun-"Paddy, will you now?" Says Mary te Geordey, "Ye've lost yor munny, Ye say yor the cutest i' the toon; But, like a feul, ye backt the wrong horse, An' ye've gyen an' lost a whole half-croon. Korus "It's a real bad job ye put the munny doon; Ye've gyne an' ye've lost a whole half-croon! "Noo, what de ye knaw aboot horse-racin? Aw divvent intend te run ye doon; But hoo d'ye expect poor foaks te leeve, When ye gan an' loss a whole half-croon? "Ye said ye'd got a tip frae the trainer, An' got me te pledge me best black goon: Te gein ye a lift aw wad pawn'd me shift, But ye've gyen an' lost a whole half-croon? "Ye knaw that eers before ye married us, Ye courted anuther lass doon the toon: Noo, hoo will she get her munny this week, When ye've gyen an' lost the whole half-croon? "Aw advise ye noo tge bet ne mair, lad, Withoot putting nyen o' the munny doon, Or else ye mun haud the stakes yor-sel, An' nivvor ne mair loss a whole half-croon!" -Joe Wilson |
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Subject: Lyr Add: The Bobbies I' The Beerhoose-Joe Wilson From: *#1 PEASANT* Date: 30 Apr 06 - 12:08 PM The Bobvbies I' The Beerhoose. Teun-" Anna Maria Jones." Thor wes Geordey, Tom, an' Davey, Three jolly cheps, one neet, Got on the spree at Mistress Smith's A beerhouse 'lang the street. Wi' monny a gill they had thor fill, An' Time flew like the beer; They diddent knaw hoo much had gyen Till closing time wes near. The hoose wes closed, an' still they stopt, An' waddent gan away, As the widow diddent much object, If they wad quiet stay. Ov course they a' said that they wad, An' sittin doon agyen, They myed thor-sels as happy as If they had been at hyem. But, all at once, a dubble knock Myed ivryone start up; Sum spillin what they'd just got in, They hardly got a sup. "Run-hide yor-sels!" says Mistresws Smith, "An' aw'll gan te the door; Just keep as quiet as ye can, The way ye've deun before!" Doon te the cellor Geordey ran; Tom I' the kitchen hid; Than Davey inte the back-yard, Knew nicely hoot e did; An' ivrything luckt a' soreen, An' free frev ony din; In fact, 'twes like an empty hoose When she let the Bobby in. The Peeler then begun te chaff, Wi' monny a gill o' beer; An' whole three-quarters ov a noor He kept them all I' fear; Until he got a fright he'sel, A sharp knock myed him stir; Says he, "Aw'd better hide me-sel, Wor Sarjint's at the door!" He ron doon te the cellor, where He stumbled I' the dark: His nose wes met by Geordey's fist- It left a clivor mark; I' the kitchen next he got the fut; The back-door, then he tried, Where Davey, wiv a friendly kick, Sent Bobby clean outside. The Sarjint cumin roond that way, On duty bent, ne doot, Detarmined te roughly handle The forst one that com oot: But as the Bobby wes the forst, He went doon wiv a run, The time the uthers scampered off, A' laffin at the fun. -Joe Wilson |
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Subject: Lyr Add: Bad Beuts- Joe Wilson From: *#1 PEASANT* Date: 30 Apr 06 - 12:16 PM Bad Beuts. Teun-" Recknin for the Pay." Aw pity the man that weers bad beuts, He'll nivvor get on varry weel, Until thor repair'd, for it's like bad times, When yor beuts gan doon at the heel. Korus Aw'm sure it's a real bad sign That a man's not dein weel, An' thor's nebody anxious Yor cump'ny te keep Where yor beuts is doon at the heel. Suppose ye've got a gud suit o' claes, Ye cannot ony comfort feel, An' ye'll just be considered a seedy swell, When yor beuts is doon at the heel. The tailor 'ill swear at the claes ye wear, An' sum little fault he'll reveal, But ye'll find the cobbler yor only frind, When yor beuts is doon at the heel. Ye'll find invitations te parties scairse, For dancing ye'll get ne appeal, They'll not axe ye te gan tiv a fewn'ril, When yor beuts is doon at the heel, Ye may wlak wi' yor heed stuck up wi' pride, An' slip throo the streets like an eel, But ye'll find yor ower much at one side, If yor beuts is doon at the heel. It's the way o' the world if a chep's hard up, He may try such faults te conceal, But sum busy eye's always sure te spy, When yor beuts is doon at the heel. -Joe Wilson |
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Subject: Lyr Add: The Flower o' Tyneside- Joe Wilson From: *#1 PEASANT* Date: 30 Apr 06 - 12:24 PM The Flower o' Tyneside. Teun-"She's Black." Me sweetheart's as smart a young lass as ye'll see, She's kind an' she's bonny, an' truthful te me; She's canny, she's hyemly, just myed for me bride, A sweet flower that blooms on the Banks o' Tyneside Her fethur an' muther 'ill miss her that day, When prod o' me trissure aw'll tyek her away; When te maw care an' keeping they fondly confide The sweet flower that blooms on the Banks o' Tyneside. This luv myeks a poor fellow selfish, aw fear, But aw'll not separate them, aw'll tyek a hoose near; As thor bairns an' thor neybors beside them we'll bide, Then they'll not miss se much the sweet Flower o' Tyneside. Aw'm stiddy at wark, an' we'll seun myek't complete, Thor'll not be a hoose furnish'd lik't I' the street; Aw wish twes a palace aw had for me bride, She'd be queen o' them a', wad the Flower o' Tyneside. At ony rate she'll myek't a palace for me, Her true, faithful subject an' consort aw'll be; Aw'll honour me mistress wi' luv an' wi' pride, An' cherish that flower on the Banks o' Tyneside. -Joe Wilson |
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Subject: Lyr Add: The Lads upon the Wear!-Joe Wilson From: *#1 PEASANT* Date: 30 Apr 06 - 01:46 PM The Lads Upon the Wear! Teun-"Aw'll sing ye a Tyneside Sang." I' Sunderland let's sing What shud myek the whole hoose ring, It's a sang that's sartin a' the lads te cheer, For it gladdens ivry toon When thor natives gain renoon, An' thor's hundreds that's deun that upon the Wear. Korus. An' ho, me lads, it myeks me heart se glad Te sing ye a sang te please ye here, Then give a hearty cheer For the lads upon the Wear, Ay a hearty cheer for them upon the Wear! What a greet success they've myed I' myest ivry kind o' trade, Ne shipbuilders I' the world they'll ivor fear, An' greet launches keep thor pride Always on the brightest side, An' the sailors a' declare se on the Wear! They've a toon that's often praised, An' byeth Pier an' Park they've raised, An' examples set tiv uthors far an' near; When the Nine Oors Strike begun, It wes gain'd and fairly wun, Forst and foremost, be the lads upon the Wear! The iv nearly ivry sport, Whey, ye'll seldum find them short, An' sum day thor'll be a champein sculler here; Let this always be yor boast, An' yor plissure when ye toast, "May success attend the lads upon the Wear!" -Joe Wilson |
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Subject: Lyr Add: Ye Knaw! Ye See!-Joe Wilson From: *#1 PEASANT* Date: 30 Apr 06 - 02:12 PM Ye Knaw! Ye See! Teun-"The Railway Guard." Whenivor ye hear a story tell'd On owt, or on nowt at a' De ye nivvor mind the diff'rint styles? Thor's sum 'ill say ye knaw! An' sum 'ill say ye understand! An' sum 'ill say ye see! At the end ov ivry sentence, So just lissen lads, te me Korus. For ye knaw an' ye see, an' ye understand, An' ye understand, ye knaw, Ye'll find i' story-tellin thor's a lot o' funny ways, But aw's sure this quite licks a'. For instance, aw'll tyek a chep that once Tell'd me his pedigree, As a specimine o' the way foaks tell A story, de ye see? Says he, "Then forst, ye'll understand, Me muther's nyem wes Gee, An' me fethur's nyem Bob Broon, ye knaw, Byeth diffrint quite, ye see! "Me muther's nyem wes nivvor changed, Tho not her falt, he knaw, Me fethur left the toon, ye see, Afore dayleet aw saw; It wassent reet, ye understand, Frae wife an' bairn te flee, But aw warn'd he diddent knaw that Aw wes cumin, de ye see?" What puzzles me myest, ye'll understand Is the habit foaks hes, ye see! I' saying ye knaw an'' ye understand, An' ye see, an' de ye not see? The subject may be grand, ye knaw, Or may be nowt at a', But still foaks say, ye understand, Ye see, besides ye knaw! -Joe Wilson |
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Subject: Lyr Add: The Glorious Vote Be Ballot-Joe Wilson From: *#1 PEASANT* Date: 07 May 06 - 10:24 AM The Glorious Vote Be Ballot Teun- "The Pawnshop Bleezin" Let Keeside spooters preech away, An' gie wor laws greet praises, An' bliss Reform, that's gain'd the day, Abuv the world te raise us; Let greet an' small at once rejoice, That Vote be Ballot's been wor choice, That wi' this plan we've fund the way Where iv'ry voter gets fairplay, Throo glorious Vote be Ballot. The voter hes ne bother noo, Nowt cud work ony better, He just receives a caird or two, A sorkler or a letter, Te ask him just te sign his nyem, Or faithful promise, that's the syem, That he'll on sum porticklor day, For this candidate gan strite away, An' nobly Vote be Ballot. I' the morn afore he's oot o' bed, Thor's plenty calls te see him, Byeth tawky cheps an' cheps weel-breed, Tri I thor turns te de him. They'll start an' run the tethers doon An' myek him thaink he owns the toon, Byeth one an' a' his vote ill crave, For a day he's mair a lord than slave, Throo glorious Vote be Ballot. The powlin day at last arrives, He's mair a lord then ivor, The canvassers, like bees roond hives Attend him noo se clivor. A cab stands proudly at the door, If he's not been I' one before, They kindly offer him the treat, An' cheer him as he tyeks his seat, Te gan an' Vote be Ballot. The powlin booth he grandly nears, Wi' croods he's noo surrounded, An' hustled in wi' graoans an' cheers, An' pairty strife confounded; He sees the cullors bright an gay, On mony a breest, - as if te say It's aw deun iv a secret way, Election tricks is a' fairplay, Hooray for Vote be Ballot! At neet, when walkin throo the street, He heaers byeth cheers an' howlin, An' pairty fights myeks a' complete, Te leave ne room for growlin;- Hoo secret is the Ballot Box! High words, an' blows, an' ugly knocks, An' enmity as bitter then, Show what a boon it's browt te men, This glorious Vote be Ballot! -Joe Wilson |
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Subject: Lyr Add: Ye Talk Aboot Cheps Bein Bashful-Wilson From: *#1 PEASANT* Date: 07 May 06 - 10:25 AM Ye Talk Aboot Cheps Bein Bashful. Teun-"Varry Canny." Ye may talk aboot cheps bein bashful, aw say, But thor's nyen that aw've seen like wor Neddy, Tho' a canny young chep iv his awn quiet way, An' byeth sober, gud-hearted, an' stiddy; He'd behave he'sel reet i' the cumpny o' men, But wi' lasses, whey man, he wes frighten'd, For he'd stammer an' stutter, an' blush like a bairn, The least notis his narvishness heighten'd Noo ye talk aboot cheps bein bashful. He courted fat Nan, at least she courted him, She's a greet big stoot las, wi' ne shyness, But a real handy hoose-keeper, honest an' trim, Wiv a tung that myeks up for Ned's dryness; She knew if she waited he'd nivvor propose, So te start frae the forst as the best un, One fine neet she popt a kiss under his nose, An' then she te him popt the question. Noo ye talk aboot cheps bein bashful. Of coorse Ned conseted, he cuddent say No! An' the Register Office he mention'd, He thowt 'twad be private, he diddent like show, Espeshly when tyekin a wench in't; But that morning before half the sarvis wes deun, A' the neybors cum croodin an' puishin, An' cheerin the pair all the way they did run, The bride smiled, but the bridegroom wes blushin. Noo ye talk aboot cheps ein bashful. At hyem, Ned sat up if a corner, as grim As if 'twes a funeral party, An' he thowt tiv he'sel that they waddent miss him, 'Mang as mony se jovial an' hearty; So at neet when he fund all the cump'ny gawn, Efter mony boos, scrapins an dodgins, He thowt it wad be best te follow thor plan, So he hurried away tiv his lodgins. No ye talk aboot cheps being bashful. Next morning, he thowt ti wad only be reet Te call an' see hoo his wife fettled, Says she, "Noo, Ned, where did yeget te last neet?" Ye may a' lay yor life she was nettled! "What's the reason ye left us last neet be myself? Aw's yor wife, but ye myest myek us doot it!' Says he, "If aw'd stopt, an' the neybors heard tell, De ye not think they'd all talk'd aboot it?" Noo ye talk aboot cheps bein bashful. Says she, "If the neybors knew ye war away, For talking they'd hev a gud reason, An' if aw hevint a mind te believe what ye say, Sum uther lass ye might be squezin." Efter this, cud Ned help but te stop biv her side, An' twelve months efter hoo his ey glisten'd, When the Queen, canny body, sent doon tiv his bride, Three pund for three bairns as a prisint! Noo ye talk aboot cheps bein bashful. -Joe Wilson |
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Subject: Lyr Add: When A' Thor Memry's Gyen-Joe Wilson From: *#1 PEASANT* Date: 07 May 06 - 10:27 AM When A' Thor Mem'ry's Gyen Teun-"Little Dick." They tell us that aw lay last neet Upon the kitchen floor, An' wakened nearly ivry one Wi' maw greet heavy snore. They thowt aw'd choke, so lowsed me tie, An' put us te bed then; It's time that men shud drink ne mair When a' thor mem'ry's gyen. They tell us that aw drunk cawd tea, An' thowt that it wes beer; Then put me seegar's reed-het end Inte me mooth;-aw fear It mun be true, for it's sair noo, An' plissure aw heh nyen: It's time that men shud drink ne mair When a' thor mem'ry's gyen. They tell us that aw broke a jug, An' nearly killed the cat; Then stirr'd the fire wi' me stick, An' sat doon on me hat. Aw kiss'd me sweetheart's muther twice, Mistaken her for Jane: It's time that men shud drink ne mair When a' thor mem'ry's gyen. They tell us that aw teuk me coat Off fower times te fight; An' swore that a' me greetest frinds At me had sum greet spite. Aw contradicted ivry word Wi' them that set us hyem: It's time that men shud drink ne mair When a' thor mem'rys gyen. They tell us that aw stagger'd in, Then wanted te be oot; An' smash'd the clock-fyece wi' me fist, An' tossed the things aboot. An' when they mentioned twelve o'clock, Aw swore that it west ten: It's time that men shud drink ne mair When a' thor memry's gyen. They tell us that aw wes se bad, The browt the doctor in: It mun be true-aw feel se noo, An' shakey-what a sin! Aw've been a feul throo getting full; Me heed's just like a styen: It's time that men shud drink ne mair When a' thor mem'ry's gyen. The above can also be used as a Recitation -Joe Wilson |
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Subject: Lyr Add: The Life Ov A Spunge!-Joe Wilson From: *#1 PEASANT* Date: 07 May 06 - 10:27 AM The Life Ov A Spunge! Tuen-"Cappy's the Dog." He'll start i' the morning before it's dayleet, Not fit te be seen-he's a mis'rable seet; When decent men's off on thor jorney te wark, He's prowlin aboot like a thief I' the dark. Korus Then I' morning or neet, I' the dark or dayleet, Ye'll find ye'll de reet Te keep clear ov a spunge! He's drunk all his munny-small wages had he; He'll tell ye he's hard-up wi' hevin a spree: He'll beg for a jill, whingin oot, "Save me life!" But nivvor exclaims, "Save me bairns an' me wife!" He's selfish an' greedy, an' lazy as weel; The slops an' the leavins he'll beg or he'll steal. The glasses he'll drain if thor's nebody near; An' guzzle up owt if it's only called Beer! He'll laff twice as hearty as ye, if yor glad; He'll shake his greet heed, if yor onyway sad: His sympathy's welcum te ony one here, If they'd only stand him a pennorth o' beer? He's yor frind for a hapney: just give him one, If they call ye Jack, he'll seun chrissin ye John! He'll claim yor acquaintance wi' plenty o' cheek, Like the thing that he is - a mean, back-bitin sneak! I' dayleet or dark, iv his rags an' his dirt, Keep clear o' the wretch,-cut his beggin quite short; Nivvor once iv his company myek ony plunge, Thor's nowt that deserves mair contempt then a spunge! -Joe Wilson |
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Subject: Lyr Add: I' The Gloom-Joe Wilson From: *#1 PEASANT* Date: 07 May 06 - 10:28 AM I' The Gloom. Teun-" The Baltic Fleet." Thor's a heart that's sadly beatin I' the gloom; Thor's an eye that's sadly weepin I' the gloom; For the one that shud be there Te myek leet her heavy care, An' her bitter grief te share, An' te drive away despair. Korus. But thor's not one te cheer her, I' that dark an' dreary room: Her life's a lang an' weary neet- For iver I' the gloom. What's the mem'ry ov her courtship. I the gloom? An a marriage that's browt hardship I' the gloom? Her forst-born wes three eers aud, When the poor bit thing teuk bad, An' it now lies stiff an' cawd 'Slide the muther nearly mad. But thor's not one, etc. An' o' hyem he's nivvor thinking, An' its gloom, For the drunkord's away drinkin Frae the gloom; An' he'll say it's his belief That the drink 'ill kill his grief, An' that he's the mourner chief- But can that give her relief? For thor's not one, etc. Near the deeth-bed ov her darling, I' the gloom Weak an' weary, hearly faintin, I' the gloom. Where's the one that voo'd te share All her trouble an' her care? For the mourneer's lonely there, Wi' ne comrade but despair. An' thor's not one te cheer her, I' that dark an' dreary room: Her life's a lang an' weary neet- For iver i' the gloom. -Joe Wilson |
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Subject: Lyr Add: A Happy Neet At Hyem!-Joe Wilson From: *#1 PEASANT* Date: 07 May 06 - 10:34 AM A Happy Neet At Hyem! Teun-"Newcastle is my Native Place." Let poets sing I' praise o' scenes Where they injoymint find; But, lads, we hevint far te seek Till we can easily win'd. What can a man wish for better, An' nivvor need think shem Te myek't his boast that he can spend A happy neet at hyem? Korus. A happy neet at hyem, A happy neet at hyem, Wi' bairns an' wife, the joy o' life, A happy neet at hyem. When tired wiv his daily toil,, He sits doon tiv his tea, Wi' sum nice tyesty-bite, that myeks The bairns cling roond his knee: Thor bonny eyes a welcum give That they can hardly nyem: Hoo can he help but wi'; them spend A happy neet at hyem? The little lad 'ill imitate, Wi' paper upside doon, His fethur, as he reads the news That's's published I' the toon. The muther sings an' sews away; The dowter dis the syem: An' ivry one's content te myek A happy neet at hyem. An' them that lead a sober life, True happiness like this Can find te myek thor life serene- An earthly scene o' bliss. Thor happy oot, thor happy in, Such canny foals like them, That myek't thor care te always share A happy neet at hyem. -Joe Wilson |
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Subject: Lyr Add: The Horrors -Joe Wilson From: *#1 PEASANT* Date: 07 May 06 - 11:09 AM The Horrors! Teun: "Erin go Bragh." Oh, hinny! wor Geordey's been bad wi' the horrors, What pain he mun suffer-aw thowt he wad choke. The docter said it wes "Dileerium Trimmins," But really aw thowt he wes seized wiv a stroke. We put him te bed, but he lay there an' shiver'd, Thos wet on his broo stud like se mony peas; As cawd as a corpse tho hapt up I' warm blankets, We hardly cud tell what te de for his ease. His eyes hoo they glared;- like a madman he started, An' screamed, quite unorthly, that sumthing he saw; Then cried like a bairn, "If we only wad save him Frae sumthing before him, he'd seun let us knaw For days he'd been haunted, for days he'd been frighten'd, Wi' sum fearful monster, se near te Deeth's brink!" Aw shuddre'd te witness the scene ov his madness, A victim te nowt but the Demon o' Drink! He retched an' he threw i' the high ov his anauish, The blud left his cheek, an' he lay there i' pain; His moans rung the hearts ov his bruthers that held him, An' what he's gyen throo, whey, aw cannet explain. But, oh, lads, if tis is the sequil o' plissure, Gie ne such injoymint, maw hinny, te me; If the penalty's either the grave or the 'sylum, Aw cannet imagine where plissure can be. -Joe Wilson |
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Subject: Lyr Add: Aw's Froced Te Gan Away!-Joe Wilson From: *#1 PEASANT* Date: 07 May 06 - 11:17 AM Aw's Forced Te Gan Away! Teun-"What's a' the steer, Kimmer?" 'Aw's forced te gan away, hinny, Aw's really forced te gan, Thor's new wark her for me, hinny, What can aw de but gan?" "Cheer up, me lad, stop where ye are," Says she, se kind te me, "Thor's surely something will turn up, Sum canny job for ye; Stop where ye are, maw canny man, Ye'd better be at hyem, Then leave yor fam'ly lonely here; Ye'll seun get wark agyen!" "Aw cannet see ye starve, hinny; If i' some distant toon Aw fall in for a job, hinny, Aw'll send sum munnyu doon; Te keep byeth ye an' bairns a' reet, Aw'll. hev te gan away. It's ne gud stopping starving here, For new ark brings ne pay!" "Stop where ye are, stop here," says she, "Ye'd better be at hyem; If ye keep stiddy, ye'll get wark, Yor startin te did then!" "Aw's lickt for what te de, hinny. Ne maister 'ill trust me, If they find oot aw've lost me wark Throo getting on the spree; Aw's mad, lass, when aw think o' ye The think throo drink aw'm deun!' Says she, "Cheer up, an tyek the pledge, A job 'ill turn up seun; Then divvent mention gawn away, Stop wi' the bairns an' me, Let's strive te de the best we can, Aw'll not reflect on ye!" -Joe Wilson |
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Subject: Lyr Add: Try, Maw Hinny, Try!-Joe Wilson From: *#1 PEASANT* Date: 07 May 06 - 11:25 AM Try, Maw Hinny, Try! Teun-"Kill or Cure." "Aw cannet de without it, for Aw feel see awful dry, man! Aw's sure aw've tried se money times, An' noo thnk shem te try, man!" "Huts, lad!" says aw, "just try agyen, Wiv a resolution strang! Ye'll seun find oot the difference, An' ye'll say that aw'm not rang. Korus. "So try, maw hinny, try, An' ye'll not be always dry: But ye'll find yor-sel a better man, So try, maw hinny, try! "Aw mind the time when, Just like ye, Aw cuddent de without it; Aw drunk as much as ye de noo,-- Ye heh ne cawse te doot it. Aw've thowt that nowt wad quench me thirst, An ' aw've suffer'd a' the day, Until aw had the sense te knaw Aw wad heh te change me way. "The mair ye drink the mair yor dry, For mair yor always cravin- What gud can beer or spirits de? Is't health or senses savin? The burning thirst ye feel just noo, Whey, the drinkin's sure te feed; An' hat's the gud o tyeken stuff Ye shud knaw ye divvent need? "Just ye leave off the beer at once, An' then ye'll seun get reet, man; When once yor of't, ye'll want ne mair- Gud health's the greetest treat, man. A sober man's not always dry, Ti's not nattril that he shud; So if ye'll tyek a frind's advice, Hev a try for yor awn gud!" -Joe Wilson |
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Subject: Lyr Add: Charley's Across the Sea-Joe Wilson From: *#1 PEASANT* Date: 07 May 06 - 11:31 AM CHARLEY'S ACROSS THE SEA (Joe Wilson) Teun-"Even me." Sadly aw sing, for me sweetheart's away, Over the sea he's been mony a day, Mony a day he's been pairted frae me, Leaving us grieving for him on the sea. Korus. Bonny bright moon, send Charley te me, Myek his path leet an' safe on the sea; Shine on ye stars, an' sparkle as free, Charley's across the sea. Often me heart 'ill se mournfully beat, Waitin te watch for the moon'd bonny leet, Watchin the stars, for aw've ne thowts o' sleep, Withoot thor a' glistnin as bright on the deep. Often aw've thowt I' the lang weary neet, The moon an' the stars wad keep Charley reet; Withoot them aw fancy an' dreed thor's a storm, An' Charley's I' danger, ne mair he'll return. Then shine on, bright moo, byeth radiant an' warm, Keep Carley frae danger, keep him free frae harm, An' brighten his pathway se wild on the sea, An' send back me sweetheart, me Charley, te me. -Joe Wilson |
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Subject: Lyr Add: THE TWIN-BROTHERS' BIRTHDAY. BY JOSEPH W From: *#1 PEASANT* Date: 10 May 17 - 08:07 PM Joe Wilson THE TWIN-BROTHERS' BIRTHDAY. BY JOSEPH WILSON. TO HIS TWIN BROTHER, THOMAS WILLSON. Dear brother Tom, Our birthday's come, And now we're seventeen; 'Mid smiles and tears, Seventeen long years Have glided like a dream Since first we saw a mother's smile Beam on us like a ray Of pleasing hope throughout life's path, To cheer us on our way. And now we gaze Upon those days, Which memory paints so fair, When we have played, And often strayed Far from a parent's care; We think upon our childhood's days, Affection then expands Throughout our breasts, with brother's love We grasp each other's hands. Together we Will ever be As we have ever been; Let years roll on, We think upon Each fond and cherished scene, Since first we came into this world, Together, yet one in heart, Let us then hope, and trust in God, We ne'er will have to part. Me muthers warnin |
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Subject: Lyr Add: BOB HOBSON'S ADVICE TIll HIS SON. A RECI From: *#1 PEASANT* Date: 10 May 17 - 08:09 PM BOB HOBSON'S ADVICE TIll HIS SON. A RECITASHUN.- Joe Wilson BOB HOBSON sat before the fire, An' puff'd his baccy smoke, A pictor ov a gud aud sire, That can give or tyek a joke; He puff'd away, luck'd wiselyroond, Wink'd slyly at young Dan, Then like a mortal wisdom croon'd, Thus tiv his son began : Maw canny lad, ye've noo arrived At a wild, unsartain age, So wi' me tung aw've just contrived A lesson worth a sage : Luck forward te the sunny side, The dark side scarcely scan, An' nivor deal wi' dirty pride, If ye want te be a man. Tyek a' advice that ye can get, Turn not yor heed away, Or let foaks put ye i' the pet, Wi' anything they say; For inforrnashun myeks us wise, An' shows which way te steer; Be careful,-if ye want te rise, Be canny wi' the beer. Keep close yor mooth I-watch weel yor words, Afore ye let them oat, For thowtless speeches myek discords, An' put foaks sair aboot; Keep passion always frae yor door, Send selfishthowts away, An' nivor let foaks chawk a score Ye think ye cannet pay! Let honesty yor motto be, Mark weel these words, aw say, For if thor worth ye dinnet see Ye'll mebbies rue the day; Save up, te thrive, mind weel yor pense, Put not yor claes j' pawn, But keep them oat, yorsel te mense, Thor's nyen fits like yor awn! Dinnet tell lees, sic ackshuns scorn, Unworthy ov a man, Let truth as pure as ye war born, For ivor be yor plan; Stick close te frinds that ye've fund true, Strite-forward, kind, an' free; De nowt te myek yor conshuns rue, An' a "Happy Man" ye'll be ! Bonny sally wheatley Ne wark Gallowgate lad |
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Subject: Lyr Add: ABSENT FRIENDS. From: *#1 PEASANT* Date: 10 May 17 - 08:11 PM ABSENT FRIENDS. -Joe Wilson As in nights of dreary darkness, There may be a flitting ray, A chaste glow of light so starry bright, To clear the douds away; In lone moments of dark sadness, HOPE will lighten ev'ry pain, Till the soul knows not its gladness, And our hearts their peace regain. Though oft in sad lamentation We mourn for an absent friend, Each relation or separation, A cheering word we send; Hope! thou star of light, we listen To thy pure consoling strain; WELCOME in each eye will glisten, Absent friends to meet again. Wife Wisdom's worth but little, if te worldly joys I t turns a scornful ear, myeks luv a jest; F or i' this simple verse ye'll find a neym Entwined wi' ivry bliss te myek man blest. |
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Subject: Lyr Add: ON PRESENTING A FAIRING TO A FAIR LADY A From: *#1 PEASANT* Date: 10 May 17 - 08:13 PM ON PRESENTING A FAIRING TO A FAIR LADY AT NEWCASTLE FAIR.-Joe Wilson MINE own FAIR darling, FAIR as morning's light, Sweet gem of nature's morn, and charm of night, FAIR-er than the FAIR-est, with no compare, 'Tis FAIR that one so FAIR should have a FAIR; Af-FAIRS of love, perhaps, the heart might vex, And FAIR-lywith a FAIR, thy mind perplex; Yet with FAIR-neSS"for FAIRS"my love I'd tell, I'd rather say well-FARE than say FARE-well! Without my FAIR-y, poor would be my FARE, Then take thy FAIR-ing from my humble care. |
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Subject: Lyr Add: CHAMPIONS O' THE TYNE From: *#1 PEASANT* Date: 10 May 17 - 08:14 PM CHAMPIONS O' THE TYNE (Joe Wilson) Cheers for the careful, the canny, the clivor Champions combined on wor coally river, Clasper an' Candlish-the boast o' past days, Chambers an' Cooper-the theme o' men's praise |
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Subject: Lyr Add: LONG HAVE I SADLY WAITED. From: *#1 PEASANT* Date: 10 May 17 - 08:16 PM LONG HAVE I SADLY WAITED-Joe Wilson LONG have I sadly waited For a dear and treasured word, From the wand'rer o'er the sea, To dispel the sad discord Raging here within me, With torture night and morn; For oh, to live in sad suspense, Uncertain and forlorn. Long have I sadly waited For a message o'er the wave, To tell me if the wand'rer lives, Or sleeps ina foreign grave; Oh send me word, some kindly hand, A line but though it be, To lighten dark and dreary hours, My soul's impatience free. |
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Subject: Lyr Add: AUD NELLY'S ADVICE TIV HER DOWTOR! From: *#1 PEASANT* Date: 10 May 17 - 08:19 PM AUD NELLY'S ADVICE TIV HER DOWTOR! (Joe Wilson) A RECITASHUN. AUD Nelly plied her needle, byeth careful, fine, an' swiftly, Then she gazed wi' muther's pride iv her bonny dowtor's een, Her mind wi' past joys reelin, she blist the dear form kneelin, Sweet coonsil then revealin te that sweet flooer o' sivinteen. Maw eumley pet, maw hinny, aw' prood te see yor bonny, But words o' praise oft myek eonseet, an' beauty oft brings pain. Aw'd like te see ye cosey, yor cheeks keep reed an' rosey, As bloomin as a posey, but aw dinnit want ye vain! Cawshus i' yor Iuv affairs, yor shoor te fettle canny, So dinnit thraw me words aside for owt that lads may say; For oft they'll sweer devoshun, an' tell ye thor greet noshun, But like the tretch'rous oshin, they smile an' then betray. It's not the fyece that myeks the man, fine eyes, or hair that's corly, An honest heart an' kindly hand's far better then the pair; So when ye gan a cortin, spoil not yorsel wi' flortin, Or else ye'll find ne sport in the lot that's for yor share. If dancin ye shud fancy, mind weel what steps yor takin, For one false step oft puts foaks rang, ne mair to be put reet. For gud an' bad steps glancin, i' life, itsel, like dancin, We've a' te tyek wor chance in, an' tyest byeth soor an' sweet. Let uther foaks' affairs alyen, if ye mind yor awn ye've plenty, An' nivor myek a practice o' gannin ootte tea, For there thor's often clashin, wi' mischief myekin pashun, If they'd tawk 'boot nowt but fashun, then, an' only then, 'twad de. Keep the hoose byeth clean an' tidy,-dinnit gan a drinkin, A drunkin wife's the plague o' life, a dorty wife's the syem! Wi" neybors dinnet gossip,-wi' scandal gud nyems toss up, Ye'd mair need gan an' poss up the claes ye've left at hyem. Attend yor hoosehold duties wi' heart byeth leet an' cheerful, An' let yor gudman's cumforts be yor studdy a' throo life, An' stop his mooth frae sweerin, wi' nice kind words, endearin, Thor's nowt te man see cheerin as a true an' canny wife! |
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Subject: Lyr Add: MIIDNIGHT THOUGHTS From: *#1 PEASANT* Date: 10 May 17 - 08:21 PM MIIDNIGHT THOUGHTS -Joe Wilson Written at Midnight, July 18th, 1859. I GAZED on the dark blue sky, One summer's still midnight, And my lips breathed forth a sigh As I long'd for the morning's light, For sleep had deserted mine eyes, And I could not calmly rest, And again as I look'd at the skies, My heart beat quick in my breast. What thoughts then flewthrough my brain At that silent hour of night, Scenes past, were present again, Like a vision-supremely bright; Dear forms appear'd to mine eyes, And faces I long had mourn'd, Seemed around me again to rise, And the once happy past return'd. |
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Subject: Lyr Add: IN MEMORY OF THE HARTLEY CATASTROPHE From: *#1 PEASANT* Date: 10 May 17 - 08:22 PM IN MEMORY OF THE HARTLEY CATASTROPHE (Joe Wilson) January 16th, 1862. By which 204 Men and Boys were buried alive in New Hartley Pit. By the watch-fire's glow, 'mid the falling snow, There reigns a death-like gloom, Whilst prayers are murmured for those below Immur'd in a living tomb. With a tearless eye, and despairing sigh, Too sad, too griev'd to weep, The watcher's wild and heart-rending cry Is heard on the cold pit-heap. 'Mid the shaft's foul air, the brave searchers dare Its dangers to defy; "Have mercy, O God!" is the last sad prayer Of the miners doom'd to die. Again from below, to the scene of woe The searchers bold appear, Their words breathe hope, while their glances show Dread signs of desponding fear. Seven days have pass'd, they are found at last, Too LATE, sweet life to save, For death's mighty spell is o'er them cast, In that dark and fearful grave. Breathe forth a prayer for bereav'd ones there, Whose peace of mind hath fled, Good Lord, soothe with thy heav'nly care Those who mourn the hapless dead. |
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Subject: Lyr Add: LAUGHING EYES. From: *#1 PEASANT* Date: 10 May 17 - 08:24 PM LAUGHING EYES.-Joe Wilson I LOVE to gaze on laughing eyes, Bright eyes that seem forever smiling, They make such happy thoughts arise, With joyous look each heart beguiling And yet how often they deceive, Those lovely eyes, so careless glancing, Their truth, alone, we but believe, Such power have they, each mind entrancing. May sorrow never cast a cloud, Upon those eyes serenely beaming; Oh never may dark care enshroud, And dull the lustre of their gleaming; Could I but know those orbs of joy From holy virtue ne'er would sever I'd pray might nought that bliss alloy, Smile on, sweet eyes, smile on for ever! A frind i' need's the frind that's deed, if he leeves ye se much an 'eer te console yorsel with. It keeps him i' yor memry, ye knaw. |
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Subject: RE: Lyr Add: LAUGHING EYES. From: Joe Offer Date: 10 May 17 - 08:56 PM Got source information for any of these, Conrad? Is Joe Wilson the singer or the songwriter for them? The more context you can provide, the easier people can appreciate what you're posting. Otherwise, it's like you're just dumping a bunch of threads that nobody's likely to read. Please don't use ALLCAPS in thread or message titles. The guidelines for posting songs are in the FAQ. If you are posting a number of songs from a single source, consider posting them all in the same thread (I combined all your threads into this existing one, and it was a lot of unnecessary work). If you expect discussion of a particular song, then there should be a separate thread for the song. Use the name of the source as your THREAD title, and the name of the song (in Title Case) in the message title. In the text of the message, post the name of the song in ALLCAPS, then the songwriter name (if any) on the second line (or: from the singing of Joe Bazooka). Then skip a space, then the lyrics. The CHORUS should be introduced by the word CHORUS. After the lyrics, include source information and any background notes. For ease of reading, if you include chords, they should be in a separate section in the same or subsequent message, after you've posted the lyrics of the song. Thanks. -Joe- |
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Subject: RE: Lyr Add: In Memory of the Hartley Catastrophe From: Joe Offer Date: 10 May 17 - 09:32 PM This poem is mentioned in NINETEENTH-CENTURY ENGLISH LABOURING-CLASS POETS 1800-1900 VOLUME III 1860-1900 Edited by John Goodridge Associate Editor Bridget Keegan There's a pre-print excerpt here: http://irep.ntu.ac.uk/id/eprint/7371/1/196122_134%20Goodridge%20Preprint%20Converted%20WM.pdf |
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Subject: Joe Wilson (1841-1872) From: Joe Offer Date: 10 May 17 - 09:37 PM I found the index for NINETEENTH-CENTURY ENGLISH LABOURING-CLASS POETS 1800-1900 VOLUME III 1860-1900 here:
Here's the part on Joe Wilson: Joe Wilson (1841-1872) 145 (30) From Tyneside Songs and Drolleries. 147 (28) Readings and Temperance Songs (1891) [1867] Life o' Joe Wilson (as far as It's Gyen) 147 (1) Me Muther's Warnin! 148 (1) Aw Wish Yor Muther Wad Cum 149 (2) Ne Wark 151 (1) The Gallowgate Lad! 152 (2) The Drapers' Appeal 154 (1) In Memory of the Hartley Catastrophe 155 (1) The Row upon the Stairs 156 (2) Jesmond Pic-Nic 158 (1) Acrostic 159 (1) Hannah's Black Eye 159 (1) Dinnet Clash the Door! 160 (1) Jimmy's Gettin Wark! 161 (1) It's Time te Gan te Bed 162 (2) Says He! Say Aw! 164 (1) Wor Tyneside Tallint Gyen! 165 (1) Benny `ill not Gan te Scheul! 166 (1) Hungry Geordey! 167 (1) Charity! 168 (2) If Deed Foaks Com te Life Agyen! 170 (1) The Strike 171 (1) Deeth i' the Street 172 (3) |
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Subject: RE: Songs/Poems of Joe Wilson From: *#1 PEASANT* Date: 11 May 17 - 06:44 AM Source: Joe Wilson,(author) Songs and Drolleries, 1890. |
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