Lyr Add: Asstrilly; or, The Pitman's Farewell

Subject: Lyr Add: Asstrilly; or ,The Pitman's Farewell
From: *#1 PEASANT*
Date: 18 Jun 04 - 07:03 AM

Asstrilly: or, The Pitman's Farewell

Noo, marrows, aw's gawn te leeve ye, an' sair, sair 'twill grieve me
To leave wor cannjy Tyneside shores, where aw've had mony a spree;
Tho' its sair agyen mee likin', tiv Asstrilly aw' gan hykin',
For wor maistors keeps us strikin', so what mun a pitman de?

Aw mind the time when collier lads cud work for goold at hyem, man;
Dash! aw mind the time when collier lads cud spend a pund each pay;
But noo the times thor queer, man, we've nowther sangs nor cheer, man:
When we cann't raise wor beer, man, it's time te gan away.


Greet men may de a vast, man, but wor fine times thor past, man;
Gosh! aw waddent leave wor canny toon, but aw's forc'd te gan away:
So aw'll myek ne mair emoshun, but cross the salt sea oshun,
Where aw've a kind o' noshun when aw howk aw'll get gud pay.

Aw'll bid farewell te pit war, an' howk for lumos o' goold, man;
Goshcab! aw'll suen be rich aw've varry little fear;
So aw'll bid fareweel te mammy, an' maw sweetheart o' the Lammy;
It's wel knawn aw's ne hammy-so tiv Asstrilly, lads, aw'll steer.

Spoken- It's ne use stoppin' here; aw mun gan tiv Asstrilly. Still aw's kind o' flaid when aw cum te think o' bein' sea-sick, an' sailin' ower places where thor's ne bottom! Noo, if the seaa was te run oot there, an' a' hands be lost, what- O Lord!- what a nibble aw'd be for a shark! An' thor's Geordie Hall, te; aw've conswaded him te gan ' aw can. He'd myek a fortin oot there I' ne time! Sic a man for yarbs, tee! He can stuff gird cages an' canaries wiv onny man I' Northumberland. Thou shud see his tarrier bitch- she's a fair hare for rabbits! Sic a hunter! Geordie's a greet politishnist as weel: he says he'd suiner hev a reed herrin' at hyem than a beef-steak at Asstrilly. Aw say, what a slaverin' cull! Thor's nowt 'ill stop me frae gannin'. What odds if aw's drooned three or fower times, as lang as aw get there safe!

O, fare ye weel, ye happy scenes, where youthful days aw've spent, man!
Fare ye weel! for better times 'boot here thor'll nivver be.
So aw munnet be a gowk, man, but for goold aw'll gan an howk, man,
Tho' maw boiley aw may bowk, man, aw'll seun skim ower the sea.

-Corvan