Читать книгу The Newcastle Song Book; or, Tyne-Side Songster - Various - Страница 25

Table of Contents

Ho'way and aw'll sing thee a tune, man,

'Bout huz seein my Lord at the toon, man:

Aw's seer aw was smart, now

Aw'll lay thee a quart, now,

Nyen them a' cut a dash like Bob Cranky!

When aw pat on maw blue coat that shines sae,

Me jacket wi' posies sae fine, sae,

Maw sark sic sma' threed, man,

Maw pig-tail sae greet, man!

Od smash! what a buck was Bob Cranky!

Blue stockings, white clocks, and reed garters,

Yellow breeks, and me shoon wi' lang quarters,

Aw myed wor bairns cry,

Eh! sarties! ni! ni!

Sic varry fine things had Bob Cranky.

Aw went to au'd Tom's and fand Nancy;

Kiv aw, Lass, thou's myed to my fancy!

Aw like thou as weel

As a stannin pye heel,

Ho'way to thee toon wi' Bob Cranky.

As up Jenny's backside we were bangin,

Ki' Geordy, How! where are ye gannin?

Wey t' see my Lord Sizes,

But ye shanna gan aside us,

For ye're not half sae fine as Bob Cranky.

Ki' Geordy, We leeve i' yen raw, wyet,

I' yen corf we byeth gan belaw, wyet,

At a' things aw've play'd,

And to hew, aw'm not flaid,

Wi' sic in a chep as Bob Cranky.

Bob hez thee at lowpin and flingin,

At the bool, foot-ball, clubby, and swingin:

Can ye jump up and shuffle,

And cross owre the buckle,

When ye dance, like the cliver Bob Cranky.

Thou knaws i' my hoggers and drawers,

Aw'm nyen o' your scarters and clawers:

Frae the trap door bit laddie

T' the spletter his daddie,

Nyen handles the pick like Bob Cranky.

Sae, Geordy, od smash my pit sark!

Thou'd best haud thee whisht about wark,

Or aw'll sobble thee body,

And myek thee nose bloody,

If thou sets up thee gob to Bob Cranky.

Nan laugh'd—to church we gat without 'im;

The great crowd, becrike, how aw hew'd 'em!

Smasht a keel-bully roar'd,

Clear the road! whilk's my Lord?

Half sae high as the noble Bob Cranky.

Aw lup up, and catch'd just a short gliff

O' Lord Trials, the Trumpets and Sheriff,

Wi' the little bit mannies,

Sae fine and sae canny,

Ods heft! what a seet for Bob Cranky!

Then away we set off to the yell-hoose,

Wiv a few hearty lasses an' fellows:

Aw tell'd ower the wig,

Sae curl'd and sae big;

For nyen saw't sae weel as Bob Cranky.

Aw gat drunk, fit, and kick'd up a racket,

Rove me breeks and spoil'd a' me fine jacket;

Nan cry'd and she cuddled,

Maw hinny thou's fuddled,

Ho'way hyem, now me bonny Bob Cranky!

So we stagger'd alang frae the toon, mun,

Whiles gannin, whiles byeth fairly down, mun;

Smash, a banksman or hewer,

No, not a fine viewer,

Durst jaw to the noble Bob Cranky.

What care aw for maw new suit, i' tatters,

Twee blaek een—od smash a' sic matters!

When me Lord comes agyen, mun,

Aw'll strive, ev'ry byen, mun,

To bang a' wor consarn, ki Bob Cranky.

O' the flesh an' breed day, when wor bun, mun,

Aw'll buy claes far bonnier thau thou, mun;

For, od smash my nyavel!

As lang as wor yebble,

Let's keep up the day! ki Bob Cranky.