The Newcastle Song Book Part 31

Wor toon has grown se big now, Aw ne'er saw the like before; Live ye only lang eneugh, Ye'll see't join'd to Tynemouth sh.o.r.e; We've our Literinary Sicties, Shops cramm'd wiv plate and diamond broaches, But it's ne use telling ony mair, There's nowt gans doon but Hackney Coaches.

Yep! &c.

Ca-la-de-scoups were yence the rage, Sedans--were all the go; But till the noise gets fairly ower, They may keep them iv a row; Gang where you will, the talk is still, At tea or cards why all the rage is, "Why bless me, sir! have you not seen Our stylish two-horse Hackney Stages!"

Yep! &c.

A Bond-street lounge tee we might hev, If 't wasn't for the mud!

A Piccadilly we're gaun to get, And other streets as good: Maw sangs! aw think we'll 'clipse them out!

But faith I'd better haud me ditty, For fear, ye ken, in ganging hyem, They Hackneyfy me to the Kitty.

Yep! &c.

NEWCASTLE IMPROVEMENTS.

BY R. CHARLTON.

Tune--"Canny Newca.s.sel."

What a c.o.c.kneyfied toon wor Newca.s.sel hez grown-- Wey aw scarce can believe me awn senses; Wor canny aud customs for ever ha'e flown, And there's nowt left ahint for to mense us: The fashions fra Lunnin are now a' the go, As there's nowt i' wor toon to content us-- Aw'll not be surpriz'd at wor next 'lection day, If twe c.o.c.kneys put up to 'present us.

Times ha'e been when a body's been axt out to tea, Or to get a wee bit of a shiver, Wor hearts were sae leet we ne'er thowt o' the cau'd, Or the fear o' wet feet plagu'd us niver; But i' blanket coats now we mun get m.u.f.fled up, For fear that the cold should approach us-- And to hinder a spark gettin on to wor breeks, We mun jump into fine Hackney Coaches.

Aw've seen when we've gyen iv a kind freenly way To be blithe o'er a jug o' good nappy-- The gla.s.s or the horn we shov'd round wi' the pot For then we were jovial and happy: But now we mun all hev a gla.s.s t' wor sels, Which plainly appears, on reflection, We think a' wor neighbours ha'e getten the cl-p, And are frighten'd we catch the infection.

The very styen pavement they'll not let alyen, For they've tuen'd up and puttin down gravel; So now, gentle folks, here's a word i' yor lugs-- Mind think on't whenever you travel; If in dry dusty weather ye happen to stray, Ye'll get yor een a' full o' stour, man-- Or, if it be clarty, you're sure for to get Weel plaister'd byeth 'hint and afore, man.

If a' their improvements aw were for to tell, Aw might sit here and sing--aye, for ever; There's the rum weak as watter, i'stead o' the stuff That was us'd for to burn out wor liver!

Aw's fair seek and tir'd o' the things that aw've sung, So aw think now aw'll myek a conclusion, By wishing the cheps iv a helter may swing, That ha'e brought us to a' this confusion.

COME UP TO THE SCRATCH!

_Or, The Pitman Haggish'd._

BY R. EMERY.

Tune--"Calder Fair."

Now haud yor tongues 'bout Mollinox, or ony o' the trade, Ye ne'er could say that Kenton Ralph of e'er a chep was flay'd-- Yor Langans and yor Springs may come to Kenton toon iv flocks, Wor Ralph 'ill smatter a' their ribs, he is sae strang, begox!

Fal de ral, &c.

Wiv Ralph and Luke aw off yen neet for Sandgate on a spree, And swore Newca.s.sel dandy cheps to fight and myek them flee-- We gat into the Barley Mow wor thropples for to wet, And sat and drank till fairly fu', alang wi' wood-legg'd Bet.

Fal de ral, &c.

We gat up, for 'twas gettin' lyet, and leaving Sandgate suen, To Pandon went to hev a quairt before we left the toon; Some Fawdon lads were in the Boar, carrying on the war, Wi' Humpy d.i.c.k and Black Scotch Peg, a' singin' 'Slush Tom C--rr.'

Fal de ral, &c.

Then gannin hyem by Pilgrim-street, some dandy for to catch, Twe cheps, half drunk, cam up tiv us, and said, 'c.u.m t' the scratch!

Here's Lukey kens that aw's a man, and scartin aw disdain, But come and lick us if ye can--aw'll fight till aw be slain!'

Fal de ral, &c.

They cramm'd a haggish on each fist, or something very like, Then held them up close to wor fyece, and dar'd us for to strike: But Lukey, clickin' up his claes, cried, Ralphy, lad, let's run!

Od smash yor luggish heed, how-way--becrike it's Tommy D----n!

Fal de ral, &c.

Poor Lukey ran, but Ralph was left, he couldn't get away, They pelted him till Watchey cam and ended wor sad fray; Then Ralphy suen fand Luke agyen; but such a seet, begox!

His nose and fyece was thick o' blood--just like a Bubbly Jock's.

Fal de ral, &c.

Smash! how! dis thou ken Tommy D----n? said Ralphy in a hurry: Aw seed him fightin' on the stage yen neet in 'Tom and Jurry;'

A grocer chep aw sat beside, tell'd me his nyem in turn, Wi' Crib, an' Gas, an' a' the rest, and cliver Jemmy B----n.

Fal de ral, &c.

That neet we had a haggish fight, 'tween B----n and D----n sae fine-- Aw roar'd out, Aw'll lay ony bra.s.s that Jim ower Tom will shine!

But, wiv his haggish, Tommy suen gav Jemmy such a peg.

He fell smack doon upon the stage--begox, he broke his leg!

Fal de ral, &c.

The next time aw c.u.m ti' the toon, if we fa' in togither, We'll hev a jill and drink success to B----n and D----n howsever: Aw own that aw was fairly duen, an' smatter'd varry sair, But ne'er for want o' haggishes shall Ralph be beaten mair.

Fal de ral, &c.

THE PITMAN'S DREAM;

_Or, A Description of the North Pole_.

BY THE SAME.

Tune--"Newcastle Fair."

Aw dream'd aw was at the North Powl, It's a fine place a-back o' the muen, man-- Maw sangs! Captain Parry will growl, For he cannot get tid half sae seun, man: There aw seed the Queen, Caroline, And her la.s.s they sae badly did use, man, Wi' Geordy the Thurd drinking wine, And the snuffy au'd dyem brushing shoes, man.

Rum ti iddity, &c.

Aw began then to swagger about, Just to see Castleree aw was itchin', When Percival gav a greet shout, Od smash, he's down stairs i' the Kitchen!

Thowt aw, then he's just safe eneugh-- Walking farther, aw meets Bonapartie, Alang wi' au'd Blucher, sae bluff, Speaking gabb'rish to poor Captain Starkie.

Rum ti iddity, &c.

Aw gat in to see Robin Hood, Had twe or three quairts wi' John Nipes, man; And Wesley, that yence preach'd sae good, Sat smokin' and praisin' the swipes, man: Legs of mutton here grows on each tree, Jack Nipes said, and wasn't mistaken-- When rainin' there's such a bit spree, For there comes down great fat sides o' bacon.

Rum ti iddity, &c.

Brave Nelson here sells wooden legs, Iv a shop where aw think he'll get rich in-- Just to see au'd Mahomet aw begs, But, wi' Thurtell, he's doom'd i' the Kitchen: Aw seed Billy Shakespeare sae prime, Of plays he has written greet lots, man-- And there great John Kemble does shine-- Sam. Johnson sups crowdies wi' Scots, man.