12 May 00 - 07:38 AM (#226990)
Subject: Tim Tunbelly
From: Conrad Bladey (Peasant- Inactive)
Tim Tunbelly
Tune= Canny Newcassel Now lay up your lugs, a' ye freemen that's poor,
And aw'll rhyme without pension or hire--
Come listen, ye dons that keep cows on the Moor,
Though ye couldn't keep them iv a byre--
And a' ye non-freemen, wherever ye be,
Though dame Fortune has myed sic objections,
That you're neither o' Town nor o' Trinity free,
To be brib'd and get drunk at elections. When aw was but little, aw mind varry weel
That Joe C--k was the friend o' the freemen--
Aw mysel' heerd him say, his professions to seal,
He wad care very little to dee, man.
Corporation corruptions he sair did expose,
And show'd plain whee was rook and whee pigeon--
While El----h, the cobbler, in fury arose,
And pummell'd Sir M-----w's religion. Some sly common councilman happen'd to think
That the patriots mebbies had pocket--
So they sent Joe an order for wafers and ink,
And the Custom-house swallow'd the prophet.
Now if ever these worthies should happen to dee,
Andau'd Nick scamper off wiv his booty,
Just imagine yoursels what reformin there'll be,
If belwa thre's no printing or duty. But there's honest folk yet now, So dinn be flaid,
Though El--h and Joe had desarted--
For a chep they ca' Tunbelly's ta'en up the trade,
And bizzy he's been sin' he started:
aboot town-surveyin' he's open'd wor eyes,
and put Tommy Gee into a pickle---
He's g'en to Jack Proctor a birth i' the skies,
And immortal he's render'd Bob Nichol. Now, if ony refuse to the freemen their dues,
they're far greater fules that aw thowt them--
Let R--y ne mair stand godfather to cows,
Nor his coiusin swear on- till he's bowt them.
Niver mind what the cheps o' the council may say,
He'll seun sattle obstropolous Billy--
Ne mair he'll refuse for a way-leave to pay,
For fear o' the ditch and Tunbelly. The good that he's deun scarce a volume wad tell,
But there's one thing that will be a wonder--
If tunbelly losses conceit iv his sel'
Till his head the green sod be laid under.
But we a' hae wor likens, what for shouldn't Tim?
And aw'm shure he a mense to wor town is--
So fill up your glasses once mair to the brim,
And drink to the Newcastle Junis.
Oliver-In: The Newcastle Song Book or Tyne-Side Songster., W&T Fordyce
Newcastle Upon Tyne.
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