Subject: Lyr Add: Wreckenton Hiring
From:
Conrad Bladey (Peasant- Inactive)
Date: 13 Jun 00 - 04:03 PM
Wreckenton Hiring Oh, Lads and Lasses, hither come To Wrekenton, to see the fun, And mind ye bring your Sunday shoon, There'll be rare wark wi' dancing-o. And Lasses now, without a brag, Bring pockets like a fiddle bag, Ye'll get them cramm'd wi' mony a whag Of pepper-kyek an' scranchim-o. And Bess put on that bonny goon thy mother bought thou at the toon; That straw-hat wi' the ribbons broon, They'll a' be buss'd that's coming-o: Put that reed ribbon round thy waist, It myeks thou luik sae full o' grace, Then up the Lonnen come in haste, They'll think thou's com'd frae Lunnen-o. Ned pat on his sunday's coat, His hat and breeches cost a note, With a new stiff'ner round his throat, He luikt the very dandy-o; He thought that he was gaun to choke, For he'd to gyep before he spoke; He met Bess at the Royal Oak, They had baith yell and brandy-o. Each lad was there wi' his sweetheart, and a' was ready for a start, When in com Jack wi' Fanny Smart, And brought a merry Scrapeer-o; Then Ned jump'd up upon his feet, And on the table myed a seat; Then bounc'd the Fiddler up a heet, Saying, Play and we will caper-o. Now Ned and Bess led off the ball, Play Smash the windows, he did call, Keep in yor feet, says Hitchy Mall, Learn'd dancers hae sic prancing-o: Now Ned was nother lyeth nor lyem, and faith he had baith bouk and byen, Ye wad thought his feet was myed o' styen, He gav sic thuds wi' dancing-o. Now Jackey Fanny's hand did seize, Cry'd Fiddler, tune your strings to please! Play, Kiss her weel amang the trees, She is my darlin, bliss her-o! Then off they set, wi' sic a smack, They myed the joints a' bend and crack: When duen he took her round the neck, And faith he dident miss her-o. The fiddler's elbow wagg'd a' neet, He thought he wad dropt off his seat, For deil a bit they'd let him eat, They were sae keen o' dancin- o. Some had to strip their coats for heet, And sarks and shifts were wet wi' sweet! They cramm'd their guts, for want o' meat, Wi' ginger-breed and scranchim-o. Now cocks had crawn an hour or more, And ower the yell-pot some did snore; But how they lukt to hear the roar Of Matt, the King Pit caller-o! Smash him! says Ned, he mun be rang, He's callin' through his sleep, aw's war'n; Then shootin' to the door he ran-- Thou's asleep, thou rousty bawler-o! Now they danc'd agyen till it was day, Anbd then went hyem--but by the way, Some of them had rare fun, they say, And fand it nine months after-o; Such tricks are play'd by heedless youth; And though they're common, north and south, That's nae excuse for breach of truth, Nor food for wit and laughter-o. Suen Wreckenton will bear the sway, Two Members they'll put in, they say; Then wor Taxes will be duen away, Andwe'll a' sing now or never-o: Backey and Tea will be sae cheap, Wives will sit up when they sud sleep, Andwe'll float in yell at wor Pay-week, Then Wreckenton for ever-o. -In: The Newcastle Song Book or Tyne-Side Songster., W&T Fordyce Newcastle Upon Tyne.
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