Lyr Add: Wor Tyneside Champions

Subject: Lyr Add: Wor Tyneside Champions
From: *#1 PEASANT*
Date: 20 Jun 04 - 09:29 AM

Wor Tyneside Champions

Tune-"Billy Nuts."

The Cockneys say uz keelmen cheps hez nowther sense nor larnin',
An' chaff a boot wor tawk, the fuils; but , faix, they've got a warnin';
They thowt wor brains wis mixed wi' coals, but noo a change that odd is,
Alang wi' coals we send up men that licks the Cockney bodies.
Brave Harry Clasper aw'll nyem first amang wor stars that shine, man.
Lads! here's the stroke that famis myed wor canny coaly Tyne, man.

(Imitate Harry Clasper in position.)

Tune-'Billy Patterson."

An' aw'll lay maw money doon, wi' reet gud heart and will,
Te back the sons o' coaly Tyne, - huzza for Tyneside still!
May Chambers lang his laurels keep, wor champion o' the world, man;
His bonny rowin' adds fresh fame whene'er his flag's unfurl'd, man.
Of runners, te, we've got the tips,-Tyne bangs the world for pacin',
Gox! White and Rowan, champion peds, bangs a' the lot for racin';
When little White means runnin', lads, he's shaped in fine condishin,
He dog'd te get the start like this, - see graceful in position.

(Imitate the start.)

Chorus as above.

Tune-"Chant"

When pay-week comes, wor collier lads for the toon they a' repair,
Then ower the moor, an' roond the coorse, ye'll fynd them boolin' there;
Hail, rain, or blaw, 'mang sleet or snaw, ye'll fynd wor boolin' men
Watchin' the trig, aw moves the twig, howe! let's hev her here agyen.

Saint, wor famis champion, with his bold eye keen and clear,
Like leetnin' sends oot mighty thraws, the best o' men scarce near;
Hollo! "Pies all hot!" upon the spot, ther're suin put oot o' seet;
"Some mair gravy," cries oot yen: "aw say, mistor, d'ye mean te say that's meat?

It's mair like deed pussey-cat"-war the bool there-less gob!
Six te fower on Broon-hie, men! six to fower on Broon agyen the Snob.
War the bool there, war the bool there, Harry Wardle's myed a throw;
An'when he hoyed his bool away he stood just so-
(Imitate position.)

Chorus as above.

Tune-"Bob and Joan."

Wor champion quoit players here thor match ye'll seldom meet with,
For only length ye like ye'll find men te compete with,
For quoits we've famis been since Julius Seasor landed;
Man, for generations doon the gam's been duly handed.
McGregor plays weel, Lambert weel can fling her,
But Harle shapes like this when puttin on a ringer.

(Position.)

Chorus.
An' aw'll lay maw money doon, wi' reet gud heart and will,
Te back the sons o' coaly Tyne, -huzza for Tyneside still!

-Corvan, 1862