Tune—"Calder Fair."
Last week was wor pay-week, and aw went to the toon,
Alang wi' wor Susy to buy her a new goon;
A sixpence i' my pocket—we cuddent pass the Close,
But went into the Robin Hood and gat worsels a dose.
Wiv a tooral, looral, looral, &c.
Suen after we gat canny, and com alang the Brig,
An' up the Bottle-bank, man, we byeth sae went the rig,
Wi' reelin' and wi' dancin'—"knacking heel and toe,"
Our heads began to rattle where wor feet before did go.
The Half-Muin Lyen we com te, and that wor Susy found,
For ower the stanes she fell, man, that's lyen all around,
A daver, a devisher agyen the metal pump,
And aw, to save poor Susy, got a duckin' i' the sump.
Ower anenst the Dun Cow, there is a place myed reet,
As good for breaking necks, man, as ony i' the street;
Had e'er an inclination been for leading me astray,
I'm conscious that aw'd fund maw end by coming up this way.
The biggest house i' Gyetshead projecting o'er the road,
Dis scarcely leave a footpath to pass on, if you would:
Were it not for the gas leet that's on the other side,
Mony windpipes wad be clos'd, aye, and mony open'd wide.
A little farther up the street, abuin au'd Jackson's Chare,
A neatish bit o' dournament began, as passing there,
For —— —— a —— wi' guise an' shop-board new,
Is cabbaging at Pleasant —— to patch his Waterloo.
But the worst of a' these evils, is their planning o' the street,
Aye, sic a shem an' bizen, were but decent folks te see't;
For here's a hill, and there's a hill, and here they're pullin' doon,
And here they're buildin' up, (who's fault?) the only fuils i' toon.
Thus onward we were passin', thro' trouble and thro' strife,
Scarce caring what misfortune had Roger and his Wife:
But ere we gan that way agyen, we'll grease our soles and heels,
To scamper down by Sunderland, and up by smoky Sheels.