Mi sissy wants her poridge,
An' its time shoo had em too,
But th' foir's gooan aght an' th' mail's all done—
Aw dooant know what to do.
An' O, my mammy's varry cold—
Just come an' touch her arm:
Aw've done mi best to hap her up,
But connot mak her warm.
Mi daddy he once fell asleep,
An' niver wakken'd moor: