Blows good to neither man nor beast.
Malpas ales and Malpas gales
Cheer the farmer, fill his pails.
Whenever Chester chimes at Congleton do sound
A flood, like Noah’s, will wash away ye ground.
The towns are thirty miles apart.
It rains, it pains, it patters i’ the docks,
Mobberley wenches are weshin’ their smocks.
As long as Helsby (hill) wears a hood,
The weather’s never very good.