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Subject: Lyr Add: Wor Canny Second-Born!- Joe Wilson From: *#1 PEASANT* Date: 23 Apr 06 - 08:57 AM Wor Canny Second-Born! Air-"Gentle Jenny Gray." Just two eers since a lad wes born, Te myek glad wor fireside, It fill'd its muther an' me-sel Wi' nowt but honest pride; We thowt ov a' bairns i' the world, Him bonniest an' the best, An' thowt we cud luv nyen as much, But noo we've had the test,-- Korus. Wor second-born's as big a pet, We mun give him a turn, He's cum te share the forst one's luv, Wor canny second-born. His bonny cheek like velvet soft, Wes press'd wi' gentle care, The little fellow seem'd te knaw 'Twes reet te hev his share; Carresses an' the sweetest words, Myest ivrything we'ved tried, We've kiss'd him when we' ve seen him smile, An' kiss'd him when he's cried. The forst one's just as prood as us, Te see his bonny mate, An' if thor spared te grow up lads, They'll fettle real forst-rate; But if like hempy lads they fight, We'll heh to keep them doon, An' try te myek them byeth as gud As ony in the toon. -Joe Wilson |
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Subject: Lyr Add: The Bairn's Nyem From: GUEST,cbladey@bcpl.net Date: 23 Apr 06 - 08:38 AM The Bairn's Nyem. Teun-"Champion o' the Cassel Garth Staris." "What are we gawn te call the bairn?" Says Jack tiv his wife one day, "Wor sornyem Smith's such a common one, Aw divvent knaw what te say. Suppose we call him Hamlet, that's The Nyem o' the chep i' the play!" But his wife she fancied Romeo, If she cud hev her awn way. Says Jack, "Hoo wad ye like Thomas, Efter Sayers, the king o' the ring?" Says she, " Thor's ower many Toms, Wor cat's call'd the varry syem thing?" Says he then, "De ye like Alfred? The nyem ov a Duke's ne mistake!" Says she,"Ne bairn o' min shall be Call'd efter a deuk or a drake!" Says Jack, "Then we'll call him Jonah, A scriptor nyem 'ill not fail!" Says she, "It's ower doleful like, An' it soonds just like a wail!" "Let's call him Charley, Harry, or Fred," Says he, "one o' them 'ill de!" Says she, "It's Billy, or Bob, or Ned, Or Peter that pleases me!" Granfether, granmuther, an' unkil, An'aunt wees cthen call'd in; The whole had different fancies, But the aud man had te win,-- Says he,"Just call him eftor me, It's a nyem that's full o' pith, Besides it's a gud ancient one, So chrissin the bairn Jack Smith!" -Joe Wilson |
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Subject: Lyr Add: Kiss Litle Joe for Me From: *#1 PEASANT* Date: 22 Apr 06 - 07:14 PM Kiss Little Joe for Me! Teun- "Irish Mally, O," Lass, aw'm sorry aw's not wi' ye, Fairly forced te be away, Frae me little wife an' fam'ly,-- Hoo aw spend the varry day Myeks us wundor, ay, an' wundor, An' keep narvis as can be, For aw'd like ye, an' aw's sartin Ye'll kiss little Joe for me! Korus. When yor sittin be the fire, Wi' the bairn upon yor knee, Tell him that his fethur's cummin, An' kiss little Joe for me! Tell him that his fethur's cummin, Tell him that he's cummin seun, Then his bonny eyes 'ill glissen, An' he'll goo! goo! full o' fun; An' he'll think the ship ye've promised Cummin in, he's sure te see, An' he'll twist his lips se clivor, If ye kiss him just for me! For two fyeces myek impreshuns On a litle bairney's mind, An' it thinks ov a' relayshuns That thor's nyen alive se kind As its fethur an' its muther, An' its eyes thor full o' glee, When it sees them byeth asside him,-- So kiss little Joe for me! -Joe Wilson |
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Subject: Lyr Add: The Aud-Fashin'd Bairn! - Joe Wilson From: *#1 PEASANT* Date: 22 Apr 06 - 06:16 PM The Aud-Fashin'd Bairn! Teun-"Gud-bye, Sally dear." Wor Bessie's got a littil bairn, But, bliss us, what a stir, It's myed amang the family, An' the varry foaks next dor Declair they've nivor seen it's like, An' aw've heard Dolly Cairns Sweer it wes mair aud-fashin'd Then the most o' littl bairns. Korus. But, oh my , biiss us a', ye shud see the stir Betwixt the foaks i' wor hoose, an' them that leeves next dor, For accordin te thor noshuns, and the words o' Dolly Cairns, It really is the most aud-fashin'd ov aud-fashin'd bairns. It hes ne hair upon its heed, But aw suppose it will; It likes its meat like uther bairns, An' screams te hev it's fill; It cannet walk, it cannet tak, "Mamma," it just can say But aw warn'd amang aud-fashhin'd bairns They'll a' heh the syem way. It hes its nose abov its mooth, Its mooth abov its chin, Aw suppose that myek'st aud -fashin'd, An' its muther's fond o' gin; An' when she gis the bairn a drop Upon her fingor-end, It suck'st as nattril as can be, An' myeks a clivor fend. It cries as hard as ony bairn, An' likes to be weel nurs'd; But bliss us, what a pet it is An' hes been frae the forst; Aw've seen a lot o' bonny bairns, An' aw wad like te see A one that's not aud-fashin'd- Oh, but that 'ill nivor be! -Joe Wilson |
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Subject: Lyr Add: Dinnet Spoil the Bairn-Joe Wilson From: *#1 PEASANT* Date: 22 Apr 06 - 05:53 PM Dinnet Spoil the Bairn! Teun- "Flora Bell." Oh, dinnet gie that bairn a drop, Oh, dinnet let it tyest; Ye munnet lairn that bairn te drink, Ye owt te knaw what's best. Poort thing! she's only five eers aud, Then dinnet let her touch The varry stuff thats been yor ruin, Tho ye might like't se much! Korus. Keep frae the lass that deedly glass, Just for a moment think; An' dinnet spoil that bonny bairn, That canny bairn, wi' drink. Ne muther's feelins ye mun hev For that bit cumley lass, If ye wad force them bonny lips Te touch that filthy glass. Keep't frev her seet, if ye will hed; But time shud myed ye lairn That drink's been a greet curse te ye. Then dinnet spoil the bairn. Waht diff' rent beins in this world A lot o' foaks wad be, If they cud keep frae practices In infancey they see. Then let the drink, for Jenny's sake, Be kept oot ov her seet; She'll nivvor dream ov owt that's rang If she sees a' that's reet. Hoo mony muthers spoil thor bairns, An' sadly rue the day Whan they see, whe it's ower late, Thor offspring gyen astray. Then keep the bonny lass at hyem, Ye'll find it better far; Thor's nowt 'ill ruin a bairn as seun As tyekin't tiv a bar. -Joe Wilson |
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Subject: Lyr Add: My Sweetheart From: *#1 PEASANT* Date: 22 Apr 06 - 05:52 PM Me Sweetheart Teun-"Gentle Jenny Gray." Me sweetheart, she's a canny lass, As canny as can be; Her kind, gud heart's enchanted me-- Withoot her aw wad dee. She likes te sing gud moral sangs, Te charm the ear an' mind; Her feators an' her bonny voice Are both alike refined. Korus. Sweetly singin, glad hopes bringin Te the sad an' weary heart; Maw canny sweetheart, bonny lass, May we nivvor, nivvor part! Aw've seen her on a little stage, At meetins where aw've been, She'd raise her voice for Temparance In melodies, between The speeches gentlemen wad myek; But her voice had the charm: Thor seemed a lectur iv her sangs Te keep us a' frae harm. -Joe Wilson |
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Subject: Lyr Add: Intoxication!- joe Wilson From: *#1 PEASANT* Date: 22 Apr 06 - 05:25 PM Intoxication! Teun-"Early in the Morning." Maw canny bairns, draw near te me, An' say that ye'll teetotal be; Be maw experience ye'll see Drink leads to nowt but misery. Korus. Shun vile intoxication! Keep frev intoxication! It's vile intoxication Myeks the world se full o' care! Just see the myest unhappy hyem, That i' this world can find a nyem: A hoose fill'd full o' grief an' shem; A man that brings ne joy te them, Throo vile intoxication, etc. Just see the bairns flee frae thor da, A man that shud better knaw, Then be a dreed an' curse tiv a' That frev him ne affection knaw, Throo vile intoxication, etc. Mad drunk, he enters his awn hoose, An' myeks't a scene o' vile abuse; Like a tyrant he'll thor wants refuse, An heartless wife an' bairnies use, Throo vile intoxication, etc. Hoo happy there they a' might be, The bairns wad cling aorund his knee; If he wad just teetotal be, What different scenes they a' wad see, Throo vile intoxication, etc. Hoo mony fall i' manhood's prime, Cut off, ay, eers before thor time; We'd nivvor hear se much o' crime I' this or any uther clime, But throo intoxication' So shun intoxication, For vile Intoxication Myeks the world se full o' care. -Joe Wilson |
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Subject: Lyr Add: The Neet the Bairn Wes Born-Wilson From: *#1 PEASANT* Date: 22 Apr 06 - 04:55 PM The Neet the Bairn Wes Born Teun-"Stud it like a Lamb," or "Lukey's Dream." One winter's neet te bed aw went Like onny uthor man; Aw cuddent sleep, tho maw intent Wes just the varry plan; For restless aw, wi' kick an' thraw, Wish'd lang an' sair for morn; Wi' wink an' blink, aw cuddent think The neet the bairn wes born! The neet seems lang when sleep forsakes The sair an' weary eye, An' myeks ye wish the hoose awake, An' brickfast time wes nigh. Hoo lang aw lay aw cannet say, When sumthin myed us turn; Wi' thund'rin clang the door went bang, The neet the bairn wes born! Thins aw-it's not the time for wark, Aw wundor whe's gyen oot; Aw lifts me heed-the room wes dark- Oppress'd wi' fear an' doot. Aw lissens weel as if the Deil Wes gawn te gies me turn, At last a stir aw heers next door The neet the bairn wes born! Footsteps aw heers upon the stairs, An ' whispors te that's clear, Tho'ts reet te mind yor awn affairs Aw cuddent help but hear. Aw heers a cry aw wipes me eye, Me feelins myed us gurn, Across the stocks aw fell, begox, The neet the bairn wes born! Half-stunned aw scrammels frae the floor, "Cum oot!" cries Mistress Gray, As quick as thowt aw opes the door, An' next door myed me way, Where sec a seet aw saw that neet, Grim wundor myed us gurn; Wi' greet surprise aw stritched me eyes, The neet the bairn wes born! Upon a bed yeth doose an' clean, Young bonny Bessie lay, Wi'cheek as pale as onny queen, Close by stud Mistress Gray. Wiv a little bairn upon her airm Sum pictor 'twad adorn, Its cheek se pknk myed bright eyes blink, The neet the bairn wes born! Its fetheur stud beside the bed, An' blithe an' glad wes he, Wi' eyes for wife an' bairn he stud, A bonny seet te see, The muther smiled se sweet an'mild-- the midwife's jolly yarn; Wi' gin an' tea myed lots o' spree, The neet the bairn wes born! The little bairn wes handed roond, That a' might get a view, Its silky cheek wi' luv wes croon'd Wi' kisses not a few' Its health, wi'; glee, an' muther's, te, Wes drunk frae neet te morn, Byeth lad an' lass cud tyek thor glass The neet the bairn wes born! N.B.-Aw think aw'll not tell ye owt mair or ye might varry easy imadjin aw gat on the fuddle, but aw diddent tho mind ye, tho aw can safely say wor Geordy diddnet gan te wark for a week eftor. -Joe Wilson |
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Subject: Lyr Add: Jimmy Jonsin the Barber From: *#1 PEASANT* Date: 22 Apr 06 - 04:28 PM Jimmy Jonsin The Barber Teun- "An Aud Fashin'd Chant." At the end o' Stowell Street, te bliss a chep's seet, thor's a powl byeth bonny an' lang Stickin ootside iv its glory an' pride, te invite them that's passin alang Te hev a clean shave or a fashunable crop biv a gudluckin barber inside, That's famed Jimmy Jonsin, the king of a' shavers an' hair-cutters a' roond Tyneside:-- Korus. Teun--"Rob Roy Magregor." For gien ye shave an' a' the news Thor's nyen like Jimmy Jonsin, O, He'll tawk on onythng ye choose- He's a queerin, Jimmy Jonsin, O. Aw luckt in one day as aw wes passin that way--" Cum in, thor's just two afore ye!" Says Jimmy te me, an' his blithe luckin fyece wes a pictor se gladnin te see; "It's been a fine day the day,--Mistoor, hoo de ye dee?--aw hope a' yor foaks is quite weel:-- They are, that's reet!-it's yor turn, tyek a seat,--man,it's a cumfort when gud health ye feel! "Waht's yor tip for the race that next week 'ill tyek place?--aw heer thor's a dark un forst-rate, But dark uns and leet uns is not always reet uns,-aw backt Caller Ou for the Plate.-- Dis the razor shave easy?--bliss me, what a murder that was i' the papers last week-- But htor's mair murders deun then we knw owt aboot, but we'd knaw if the corpses could speak! "Aw wes doon at the Consart last neet, an' the singin wes a' that a fellow cud want;- What a shem that the Madgistrates lets noisy Davis annoy a' the foaks wiv his rant. Aw wes teetotal last week, it's the truth that aw speak--but aw seun had greet noshuns te drop, For aw nivor cud see ony gud in wad de, if a man drinkin nowt else but pop! "That fut-race at Fenhim last week wes a queer un, aw've heerd that it wassent all square! What a treat it wad be for a fellow te see a race that he knew wes quite fair! Aw went to hear Rutherford's sermon last Sunday,-dash me, he can tawk aboot owt; But aw wes fightin last neet wiv a chep i' the street,--man, a glass myeks a chep care for nowt! "Aw think when aw's deun, ae'll gan doon te the wettor, aw's sure te see sumbody pull.-- De ye think that that chep that jumpt frae the High Level's a real clivor man, or a feul? Them masheens for hair brushin's a caswshun ye'll say--masheenory myeks lots o' mazors-- But they'll find thorsels puzzilid to myek a masheen te shave onybody like razors!" -Joe Wilson |
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Subject: Lyr Add: Aw Wish Ye A Happy New Eer-Joe Wilson From: *#1 PEASANT* Date: 22 Apr 06 - 03:39 PM "Aw Wish Ye A Happy New Eer." Teun-"Uncle Sam," The room's byeth clean an' tidy,-- Se cosey, an' se warm, The tyebles fill'd wi' drink an' loaf, The new eer's morning charm; The aud man tyeks a quiet draw, Beside his canny mate, The dowter lucks tewards the door, An' thinks her swweetheart's late,-- Korus. Te sing a happy new eer! Aw wish ye a happy new eer! May yor life be as glad as the heart o' this lad, Aw wish ye a happy new eer. Oh, fethur, muther, --cries the lass, Just hear the tramp o' feet, The forst-fut mun be cummin noo, Aw hear them i' the street: Ye promised te let Jack in forst, That's him,-aw knaw his knock, Aw'open the door, --aw's sure its reet, It's efter twelve o'clock. The door's trhwn wide, wi' quickin'd stride, The forst-fut rushes in, Attended wi' sic merry mates, The neet's wark te begin, What shakin hands, what happy words- "Drink up,-thro's nowt te fear, Cum send the bottle roond agyen, Let's welcum the new eer." The aud man grasps each young un's hand, "Yor welcum here me lad," The aud wife hands refresmint roond, "Cum hinnies, let's be glad!" The dowtor shares the forst-fut's seat, It's Jack her lad aw'll swear, The neybors cum wi' bottles full, Te welcum the new eer. Give us your hand-maw canny frinds, An' ye that arnot greet, Forget the past,-send spite away, The world's a' kind the neet; May a' wor lives keep glad as noo, An' nivor knaw warse cheer, oh, aw wish that ivry mornin Wes the forst of ivry eer! -Joe Wilson |
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Subject: Lyr Add: The Day that We got Married -Wilson From: *#1 PEASANT* Date: 22 Apr 06 - 03:28 PM The Day That We Got Married Teun-"Robin Tamsin's Smiddy" The Tenth o' Mairch wes bleak an' cawd, The day byeth wet an' dreary, When like an honest-meaning lad, A went te wed me dreary; Drest up quite gay, we hied away, At hyem we little tarried,-- The ring wes bowt:--an' wed for nowt, The day the Prince got married. Rosettes wes stuck upon each breest, An' merry bells war ringin, When swaggrin throo the crooded streets, Gud korus we war singin; Processions grand, wi' splendid bands Alang wi' cheers we hurried, An' let foaks knaw, wi' shoot an' craw, That Mall an' me got married. At last we a' arrived at hyem, Te tyest the weddin dinner, Aw's sure we polished ivry byen, An' myed the pot a spinner; For roond it went,--still not content, The drinking moshin's carried, Wi' dance an' sang, te music strang, The day that we got married. When neet set in, we went te see The grand illuminashuns, When bonny seets lit up wi' glee Wor eyes wi' queer sensashuns' For a' the streets wes fair aleet, Tho i' the crood nigh worried, The gas se breet myed blithe the neet The Prince an' me got married. They hyem agyen we bent wor way, Wet throo wi' rain an' scrushin, Te pass the crood wes owt but play, Aw's still sair yit wi' pushin; At hyem at last, --the time we past, Wi' jokes byeth glen an' aprried, Ne royal prince, afore or since, Had fun like us, when married. Aw wish the Prince had just been there, Te see the aud wives dancin; An' lang fat Mat sat i' the chair, I' fun te tyek his chance in, For lips we smackt an' jaws wes crackt, The lads the lasses flurried, The Rifle Ball we myed sing small, The neet that we got married. Six munths o' time had scarcely gyen, The doctor myed us wince, man, When he said-Myour Mally's got a bairn, Says he ye've lickt the Prince man! The bairn's bit claes were ready tee, Aw blist the day we married;- Withoot a wife-fareweel te life, Ye might as weel be barried. -Joe Wilson |
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Subject: Lyr Add: She's Gyen Te Place At Jarrow- Wilson From: *#1 PEASANT* Date: 22 Apr 06 - 03:15 PM She's Gyen Te Place At Jarrow Music Composed by Thomas H. Wilson (a nyemsake O' wors),of Newcassel-upon Tyne. A lad wes nivor myed te be without a lass, Or a canny lass te be withoot a lad! The sweetest time o' life's when yor luckin for a wife, But sumtimes, --sumtimes it's nowt but varry sad; Aw wes jolly as cud be, care nivor dwelt wi' me, An' me life wes like a bright sun-shiney day, But noo, it's dull an' dark, an' aw's not up te the mark, Since maw bloomin Bella Johnson went away. Korus Oh! she's gyen te place at Jarrow, An' aw'll nivor find her marrow, Aw wunder what myed Bella gan away? Aw wes singin like a lark ivry day aw went te wark, Like sum bonny fairy dream time quickly flew, The neybors used to say thor wes nyen se blithe as me, An' depend upon't aw'll guarantee 'twes true: But noo, maw cannhy hinnnies, a day's just like a week, An' de what aw will, aw cannet help but fret, For iv yor once i' luv, mind, aw mean for fairs i' luv, The syem lass ye've luv'd, yue cannet weel forget! Aw wad sit beside the fire, an' spin the aud foaks yarns, For they byeth appear'd te think a vast o' me; An' when aw teuk be Bella roond the Market, for a walk, An hoor like the shortest minnit used to flee, But noo it's nowt like then, for aw's not like what aw was, An' aw cannet weel gie vent te what aw'd say, For aw;s se sair confoondid, wi' trubbil aw's surroondid, Oh, aw wunder what myed Bella gan away? That neet we said "gud-bye," a sad tear fill'd Bella's eye, Just as if she'd say-Aw'd rethor stop at hyem! An'aw dinnet think she'd gyen, a frind o' her's tell'd me, If aw'd only gien a hint te change her nyem; But as seun as she cums back, aw'll get me Uncle Jack Te pop the question for us-like a man, But if she dissent cum, O, the thowt on't strikes us dumb, Aw'll send him doon on Sunday-if he''ll gan! -Joe Wilson |
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Subject: Lyr Add: It's Time Te Get Up!- Wilson From: *#1 PEASANT* Date: 22 Apr 06 - 12:43 PM ts Time te Get up! Teun- "The Miller o' the Dee." "Cum Ned, get up!" says young Mary Broon, One morn tiv her lazy man, "It's half-past Five, it's time te get up! So stir, maw hinny, an' gan; Ye lost a quarter yisterday morn, Throo fuddlin wi' Davie Spark, Ye shuddint stop oot se late at neet If ye want te gan te wark?" "Get up, or aw'll shake ye weel," says she, "It's twenty-minnits te Six, Thor's just time te drink a cup o' tea An' hurry yor claes on quick; Last neet-afore ye went te bed, Ye tell'd us te nip yor lug, Or de owt aw like't te waken ye up!" But Ned he still lay snug. "Ten minnits te Six,-gud grashus me, Yor gan te sleep in the day; It may suit ye te lie there an snore, But te me it's owt but play." Then she nipt his ear wiv'her finger nails, An' he rowl'd upon the floor, As the bell o' the factory rung, he growl'd "Ye shud wakint us up before!" "What, wakint ye up afore?" cries she, "Aw've shooted since half-past Five, If ye loss a quaarter ivry morn Ye cannet expect we'll thrive!" "Huts, lass," says he, "cum inte yor bed, Yor eneuff te gie foaks a fright Wi' yor noisy tung,--so haud yor jaw, An' aw'll start at half-past Ite!" "But half-pat Ite's not the time te start For a full day's wark!" says she, "Ye shud tell'd uis that when aw went te bed, Than aw wad knawn what te de; Is't reet that aw shud get up se seun, When ye lie cosey i' bed? The morrow, me man, ye may wakin yorsel, An' see hoo ye like that, Ned!" Next morning Ned wes up wi' the lark, But Mary lay quite still, Till she saw that he intendid wark, Then te show a hoosewife's skill, She lowpt up te tie his brickfist things, An' myek him a cherrin cup;- Noo he thinks the best time bar gannin te bed's The time that he hes te get up. -Joe Wilson |
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Subject: Lyr Add: Thor's Cumfort Iv a Smoke!-Wilson From: *#1 PEASANT* Date: 22 Apr 06 - 12:42 PM Thor's Cumfort Iv A Smoke! Teun--Bitter Beer." A drink o' beer the heart 'ill cheer, An' myek the mommints glad, But beer withoot a quiet smoke Wad nivor suit this lad; A smoke's the thing,-byeth peer an' king An' poor foaks like thor draw, It's the only thing te myek dull care Dispair te plague us a'! Korus Oh, lads, thor's comfort iv a smoke! Let Rennilds lector throo the world Or let him haud his jaw, Thor's nowt that can console a man Like a quiet frindly draw! Beside the fire's bleein flame, Upon a frosty neet, Surroondid be sum tawky frinds, A smoke myeks a' complete; When teuthewark myeks ye wish yor heed Wes laid at rest belaw, Ye'll often find a greet releef Iv a sweet consolin draw! When trampin on a weary road Withoot a frind or mate, A pipe o'baccy quite revives The sowl's dispondin state; When trubbil shows its ugly fyece Te myek yor sporrits law, Or bother'd wi' sum puzzlin thowt, Thor's cumfort iv a draw! When anxshus fears prey on the mind, Or sorrow sends you share, Or solitude myeks weary time, Whte cloods dispel the care; Gie me me pipe an' half-an-oonce O'shag,--for weel aw knaw The emblim o' domestic peace Is a quiet frindly draw! -Joe Wilson |
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Subject: Lyr Add: Newgate Street - Wilson From: *#1 PEASANT* Date: 22 Apr 06 - 12:41 PM Newgate Street Teun--"The Postman's Knock." The day's just begun, an' a bright bleezin sun Sends a fine dazzlin lustor a' roond, When i' famed Newgate Street a' the jolly dogs meet, An' a' the beer-hooses surroond; Thor'sa greet race the day, so they a' myek thor stay, Te get on, an' wiat for the news, That te sum 'ill be glad, an' te uthers be sad, An' a lot o' queer feelins infuse. Korus. Laffin an' chaffin when movin alang, Tippin an' tiplin's the way wi' the thrang, Ivry day-frae morning te neet, The sportin lads muster i' Newgate Street Iv a small groop o' three, that seem lickt what te de, Anxshus whispors yor sartin te hear, "It's a deed sartinty!" says one i' the three, "Frev a jockey aw heerd it aw'll sweer, Just back thing-a-bob, an' ye'll find that me gob For tippin's a reggilor don!" When a brave luckin pollis, hard up for a case, Cums up, an' tells them te MOVE ON! It's dinner-time noo, an' a dark luckin few Frae the fact'ries that's a' roond aboot, Cum up iv a hurry, beukmakers te worry, An' lay a' thor pocket-brass oot; "Cum hinny, " says one, "will ye lay three te one? It's nearly Two noo for me wark!" Then the chep wi' the beuk, wiv a droll kind o'luck, Says"Aw'll lay ye'd, but mind ye keep't dark!" "Whe's that wild-luckin man wi' the beuk iv his hand, That's ravin as if he wes mad?" "Whey, it's Dayvis, the preecher, that meddlin aud feul, His impittince baffles the squad: Hoo he sets up his jaw, wiv a sanctified craw, The whole toon 'twad greetly releeve, If they'd tyek him away te Benshim sum day, Withoot hopes ov a ticket o' leeve!" Bliss me, what a din, it's the news that's cum in, "What's wun, canny man? " then's the cry, Thor's a rush, an' a scrush, an excitable push, Then a change te the spectator's eye; Hoo happy thor's sum, when uthers luck glum, Then ye'll hear sum aud-fashion'd chep say "If aw'd only knawn'd a' the hoose aw wad pawn'd Te heh been on the winner the day!" -Joe Wilson |
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Subject: Lyr Add: Its Muther's Cum Wilson From: *#1 PEASANT* Date: 22 Apr 06 - 12:40 PM Its Muther's Cum Teun--"When the Kye cums Hyem." Wor Geordy got the bairn te keep, The time his wife wes oot, But till the pet wes fast asleep, He sair wes put aboot; Before his wife wes oot the hoose He wisht her back agyen, At last te Geordy's greet releef, She landid safely hyem. Korus Sleep on, maw bonny bairn, Sleep on, maw canny son, Affecshun watches near ye noo, Sleep on, its muther's cum! "Oh, Geordy, hes the bairn been gud?" Cries Peg, quite oot o' breeth, "Aw thowt ye'd hevv a weary job, It's bizzy cuttin teeth: Aw left its boily on the neuk, Aw thowt the job ye'd curse, The poor thing cried this mornin sair, But yor a clivor nurse!" "Hoo calm it sleeps,-the little pet Like sum wax figor there, Ne trubbil cloods its bonny broo, It's free, as yit, frae care; Are ye not prood o' such a bairn? The only lad we've had, It's nose, its eyes, its mooth, its chin's The pictor ov its dad!" "Luck at its lips, its churry lips, That move when iv its sleep, As tho it dreamt it had the tit Between its lips to keep; Tor's mony a one wad give a croon Te claim him as thor awn, The bliss, the joy o' wedded life's A kind a' bonny bairn!" "Whish't, Geordy, for its stirin noo, Luck at the happy smile That prightens up its bonny fyece, Se sweet, an' free frae guile, Eneuff te myek each sinner blush; Dream on, thor's nowt te fear, Thor's kindly watchers near yor bed, Its dad an' mammy's here!" -Joe Wilson. |
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Subject: Lyr Add: Canny Aud Crismis!- Wilson From: *#1 PEASANT* Date: 22 Apr 06 - 12:39 PM Canny Aud Chrismis! Teun--"Pull Away Cheerily." Let's sing for aud Chrismis, canny aud Chrismis! A time when the world's leet-hearted an' glad, Let its welcum be hearty, gud-temper'd an' jovial, Cheer up, maw pets, it's a shem te be sad! The beef on the tyeble lucks temptin an' lushus, An' tyests se much sweeter wi' bein the prize; The holly seems noddin, as tho it wes laffin At a' the glad fyeces an' bonny brght eyes. Korus.-- Then sing for aud Chrismis, etc. Hoo happy the meetin, an' cordial the greetin, When foaks bid gud-bye te bad temper an' care, When squeezes an' kisses, an' kind-hearted blisses Fall in abundance, an' young hearts insnare; There's smart little Bella sticks weel te that fella That once set her hyem, de ye think she'd say No! If he offer'd te tyek her te join i' the dancin? He's Twice had her under the Mistletoe Bough! The scene se intrancin, wi' music an' dancin's Eneuff te myek sorrow sink under the din, When kettles keep hummin, an' bleezin an' sparklin, The fires burn brightly as tho they'd join in; Thor's ne Chrismis log, but Big Harry, the cairtman, Te stir up the company, an' cawse a bit fun, Browt a greet lump o' coal, it teuk two men te carry, It 'ill be Chrismis agyen beforfe the bit's deun! And fethurs an' muthers, te be like the tuthers, Cheer up, an' imagine thor young onece agyen, Luckin eftor what passes, -while gud-luckin lasses Click at the grand chance te luck eftor the men; There's blue-eyed young Nanny, byeth cosey an' canny, Grush'd up iva corner wi' young Geordy Knox, But the bairns i' the family 'ill not let him rest there, Thor cravin the lad for a nice Christmis box! Then sing for aud Chrimis, canny aud Chrismis, Frae ivry day trubbil we find a release, When foaks glad an' frindly, cheerful an' kindly, Meet an' shake hands i' the true bonds o' peace; When the fiddler's grand teuns myek hearts lowp wi' plissure, An' feet trip byeth happy an' leet on the floor, While uthers keep singin, the korus high ringin, The joys ov aud Chrismis te fully restore. -Joe Wilson |
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Subject: Lyr Add: Tyneside Lads For Me - Wilson From: *#1 PEASANT* Date: 22 Apr 06 - 12:38 PM Tyneside Lads for Me Teun="Kill or Cure" Noo a' ye lads that's Tyneside born, just coock yor lugs an' lissen, Aw'll gie yor canny toon a turn , an' myek yor goggles glissen; Ye cannet tell hoo glad aw feel, an' me heart it lowps wi' pride, When me voice aw raise te sing i' praise ovv canny aud Tyneside,- .Korus Then sing me lads wi' glee, an' happy may ye be, Whack-fal-the-daddy, O!-the Tynesdie lads for me. Luck at the noble buildins grand-the wark o' Richard Grainger, Hoo fine like palaces they stand, the wunder ofv each stranger, Ye may search the world reet throo an' throo, an' travel far an' travel far an' wide, But aw's sure yhe'll nivor find owt like the manshuns o' Tyneside. Twes doon the shore, not varry far, George Stephenson invented The steam engine, so te be a star, forth the the world he sent it, The foaks amazed went nearly crazed, when they saw its leetnin stride An' they a'confess'd thor's nyen can best the lads ov aud Tyneside. Sir William Airmstrang myed a gun- noo it's a reglor wundor, It myed the funky Chinese run, when they heard it roar like thunder, Sum want te say it's just a hoax, an' its merits they deride, But wait a bit he's not deun yit-Sir William of Tyneside. Where will ye find sic pullers, like them on wor coaly river? Far-famed as sturdy scullers, thor se strang se stoot, se clivor, Lang may Chambers an' Cooper leeve, for i' them we can confide What's dearest tiv each honest heart, the honor ov aud Tyneside. So pass the glass, an' chant a stave, an' join its chorus sweetly, I' praise o'Tyneside lads, se brave, they bang the world completely, An' sing this sang wi' voices strang,-let it echo far 'an wide, The greet renoon o' wor canny toon, and the heroes o' Tyneside. -Joe Wilson |
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Subject: Lyr Add: Keep't Dark-Wilson From: *#1 PEASANT* Date: 22 Apr 06 - 12:37 PM Keep't Dark: or, The Wife that Knaws Ivrything A contrast to the Chep that Knows Nowt. Teun--"The Perfect Cure." Aud Mistress Clark wes fond o' clash, She lik'd te hear her tung, She said that tawkin eased the mind, Wi' foaks byeth aud an' young; The chep that knaws nowt's gud advice Wes lost on Mistress Clark,-- But mind aw shuddnt menshun this, Aw hope ye'll a' keep't dark! Says Mistress Clark te siv'ral frinds She had one day te tea, Aw wunder what myeks Geordy Hall So fond o' beer an' spree? They say his wife can tyek her gill, An' neether's fond o' wark,-- But mind aw shuddint menshun this, Aw hope ye'll a' keep't dark! There's Mary Smith, upon the stairs, A wild an' rakish lass, Aw wunder where she gets her claes, Aw's sure she hes ne brass, They say she's thick wi' Draper Jim,-- He's not up te the mark,-- But mind aw shuddint menshun this, Aw hope yell a' keep't dark! There's Bella Jones that leeves next door, Got Bessie Thompson's shawl, An' borrow'd Suzie Ratcliffe's goon, Te gan te Hopper's ball, But neether o' them's got them back, Aw think's owt but a lark,-- Still mind aw shuddint menshun this, Aw hope ye'll a' keep't dark! Therre's Dollyu Green, that dorty slut, That leeves alang the yard, She flirts wi' ivry lad she meets, She's worthy ne regard; Last neet aw catch'd her on the stairs Wi' Jack the Keyside Clerk;-- But mind aw shuddint menshun this, Aw hope ye'll a' keep't dark. There's Mistress Johnson pawns heer claes, As sure as Monday cums: An' drunkin Mary locks the door, For fear she'll get the bums: An' Mistress Black 'ill nivor wesh Her man a shart for wark, But mind aw shuddint menshun this! Aw hope ye'll a' keep't dark! Fat Mistress Jackson likes te clash Lang Jinnie likes her ways; An' Mary Riley starves her bairns, Te get sic dandy cales; Young Peggie Robson's got her bed, Throo sum seducin spark;- But mind aw shuddint menshun this, Aw hope ye'll a' keep't dark! -Joe Wilson |
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Subject: Lyr Add: Me Muther's Warnin (Joe Wilson) From: GUEST,cbladey@bcpl.net Date: 22 Apr 06 - 12:34 PM Me Muther's Warnin! Me muther often says--"Maw canny lad, It's myekin rhyume that myeks ye varry bad; Yor heed's been achin noo for mony a day, So write ne mair, but thraw the trash away! What gud can't de ye myekin Tyneside sangs, Or useless speeches 'boot foaks' reets and rangs? For poets vary seldum de much gud Wi' owt they say or write,--besides ye shud Tyek care i' what ye say, -whe ye defend, Ye may please sum, but mair ye may offend Wi' what ye just may think as harmless chaff; An ye needent kill yorsel te myek foaks laff! An if wi' study ye shud win a nyem, It 'ill gan ne farther than yor Tyneside hyem! Newcassel taek's a queerish thing te reed, Aw dinnet knaw what put sic i' yor heed: Yor ower young te tell foaks what te de, So write ne mair!-tyek this advice frae me!" Aw's sure aw's sorry that aw thus disploease, An writin sangs, me canny muther teaze, But if aw dinnet write, aw think the syem, Tho maw poor efforts may appear but lyem Te them greet critics, that man's fate can seal, Aw hope thor censure aw may nivor feel; Me constant aim's te please, instruct, amuse, Gud humour and gud will a' roond infuse: Contented, blist, shud aw me end attain; A humble candidate for your regard, Aw sign me-sel Joe Wilson, Tyneside Bard. -Joe Wilson |
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