Te them hus i’ th’ north were but ninnies.
But aw fand ma sel blonk’d when to Lunnun I gat,
The folks they a’ luck’d wishy washy;
For gould ye may howk ’till ye’re blind as a bat,
For their streets are like wors—brave and blashy!
’Bout Lunnun then, div’nt ye mak sic a rout,
There’s nouse there ma winkers to dazzle,
For a’ the fine things ye are gobbin about,
We can marra iv canny Newcassel.
A Cockney chep show’d me the Thames’ druvy feace,