Lyr Add: The Pawnshop Bleezin'

Subject: Lyr Add: The Pawnshop Bleezin'
From: *#1 PEASANT*
Date: 17 Jun 04 - 01:01 PM

The Pawnshop Bleezin'

Tune- "X,Y,Z."

Wor, Sall was kamin' oot her hair,
An' aw was turnin' dosy,
Whiles snot'rin' in wor easy chair,
That myeks a chep sleep cosy,
When frae the street cam screams an' cries-
Wor Sall says "Wheest!" aw rubs my eyes;
An' marcy! shoots o' "Fire!" aw hears-
Aw myeks yen lowp doon a' wor stairs,
An' smash, aw seed a queerish seet,
Yel thousands crooded I' the Street-
It wasa the Pawnshop bleezin'.

The wimmin folks 'twas sair to see
Lamentin' their distresses;
For mony a goon, an' white shemee,
Was burnt wi' bairn's dresses;
Peg Putty stamp'd an' cried, "Oh, dear,
Wor Geordey's breeks is gyen, aw fear;
Maw bonny shawl an' Bella's frock-"
Says Betty, Mills, "An' there's wor clock,
An' a' maw bits o' laddies' claes-
My pillowslips an' pair o' stays-
Is in the Pawnshop bleezin'."

A dowpy wife wi' borrow'd fat,
An' wiv a puggy beak, man,
Cam pushin' wiv her bonnet flat,
And puffin oot her cheeks, man;
Ye niver seed sic bullet eyes-
Her screams aw thowt wad splet the skies;
"Oh Lord ! maw babbie's things is gyen!
Maw unborn babe hes claes noo nyen!
An' when wor Billy finds it oot,
There'll murder be, aw hae nee doot;
Oh dear! what garr'd me put them in?
'Twas a' the races an' curs'd gin-
That set my claes a-bleezin."

"Oh, marcy, aw'll be hammer'd tee!"
Cries Orange Jinny, blarin';
"Aw popp'd Ned's suit te hae a spree,
But suen aw'll get me fairin',-
He thinks, poor sowl, his claes is reet,
He'll want yen suit o' Friday neet-
What mun aw dee? aw wadent care,
But, hinnies, watch an' seal is there;
An' warse an' warse! he'll quickly knaw,
That earrings, weddin' ring an' a'
Is in the Pawnshop bleezin'!"

Lang Skipper Jack, wil mony a sweer,
Cam laingerin' up the Side, man,
Says he, "What's a' the matter, here?
Noo, here's a bonny tide, man!
Why, marrows, sure it cannit be,
This isn't Trotter's place aw see?"
So oot his baccy fob he tuik,
Hawled oot some tickets frae a buik:
"Whyu sink the sowls of a' the lot;
Aye, d--n the yel scrape's gyen to pot,
There's a' maw fortin bleezin'!"

The yels, an' blairs, an' curses lood,
And cries o' stupefaction:
An' bits o' bairns amang the crood,
Increased the mad distraction;
Aye, mony a wife will rue the day
She put her husband's things away;
An' men will groan wi' bitter grief-
(For Pawnshop law hes ne relief)-
To find their labour, toil, an' pain,
To 'pear like decent foaks is vain-
There a' their goods is bleezin'!

The world was better far aw'm sure,
When pawnshops had ne neym, man;
When poor folks could their breed procure,
Withoot a deed o' shym, man!
Ther boxes luik like cuddie's stalls;
There's hell-fire in their holloow balls;
Their gains is large, wor chance is sma'-
They often's get wor pledges a'--
Just like the plagues of Egypt sent,
They banish peace an' calm content-
Aw wish they a' were bleezin'.

-J.P.Robson, "Bards of the Tyne,", 1849.


This celebrated song is wreitten on Mrs. Trotter's Pawnshop, formerly situated in the Side, Newcastle, being entirely destroyed by fire, in the year 1849. Although a humorous composition, it faithfuly describes the horrors and misery attending the use of such establishments, and is certainly one of the author's most popular productions- Note, 1872/

Subject: RE: Lyr Add: The Pawnshop Bleezin'
From: Q (Frank Staplin)
Date: 17 Jun 04 - 10:46 PM

J. P. Robson also published "Poetic Gatherings, ot Stray Leaves from My Portfolio," 1839. Both are very rare. Anything from these books would be welcome. One I would like to see is a poem of the mines, "The Pitman's Happy Times."

Not often remarked on, but a lot of the words got into American slang, especially in the coal-mining areas.