Dont think of my money to ease me,
For a Yorkshire lad knows brass from gold,
If he don't—then Jemmy Johnson squeeze me."
I was tired of their tricks, says I, "I'll go home,
While all's right, tight, and comely;
For a rolling stone gathers no moss,
And home is home if it's ever so homely."
But I made 'em remember 'for I left town,
They thought how it did please me,
That the Yorkshire lad was not to be had,