Still, though I'm mad to 'ear 'em play, and sometimes join the dance,
I often wish one music gave the other kind a chance.
The orgin might have two days, and the cornet take a third,
While the pipe-man tried o' Thursdays 'ow to imitate a bird.
But they allus comes together, singin' playin' as they meet
With their pipes and 'orns and orgins in the middle of our street.
But there, I can't stand chatterin', pore mother's mortal bad,
And she's got to work the whole day long to keep things straight for dad.
Complain? Not she. She scrubs and rubs with all 'er might and main,
And the lot's no sooner finished but she's got to start again.