Oh! hinnies, Corporation!
A! marcy, Corporation!
Ye hev deun a shemful deed,
To force us frae wor canny station.
It's nee use being iv a rage,
For a' wor pride noo fairly sunk is—
Ye've cramm'd us in a Dandy Cage,
Like yellow-yowlies, bears, and monkies:
O hinnies, &c.
The cau'd East wind blaws i' wor teeth—
With iron bars we are surrounded;
It's better far to suffer deeth,
Than thus to hev wor feelings wounded.
O hinnies, &c.
Wor haddocks, turbot, cod, and ling,
Are lost tiv a' wor friends' inspection;
Genteelish folk from us tyek wing,
For fear of catching some infection.
O hinnies, &c.
O, kind Sir Matt.—ye bonny Star,
Gan to the King, and show this ditty—
Tell him what canny folks we are,
And make him free us frae this Kitty.
O hinnies, &c.
If ye succeed, agyen we'll sing—
Sweet Madge, wor Queen, will ever bless ye;
And poor au'd Jemmy tee, wor King,
With a' us fishwives will caress ye.
O hinnies, &c.
SUNDERLAND JAMMY'S LAMENTATION,
December, 1831.
My sankers! we're all in a fine hobble now,
Since the Cholera com tiv our river;
Aw wadn't hae car'd if 'twas ought that one knew,
But the outlandish nyem myeks one shiver:
Our doctors are all in a deuce of a way.
And some says they've Clannied to wrang us;
But I think we may all curse the Daun o' that day,
That the block-headed Board com amang us.