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Come listen I'll tell you a story Eh, man, what a rare du we've hed Last neet at Bob Robson's at t'Raffles I declare I've not yet been a' bed Theer were fwoks from all parts of the cuntry Frae Newby, frae Wharton an' Bow Up from the Lakes com Johnny And from
The lads at last blew out candles The lasses then raised a great yell! Lonnie the smith got weel hammered For things it wad nit du to tell The landlord com in i' the meantime, As wild as any march hare Swore he wad whang a' aboot him, But to fin' them he cudden't tell where The fiddle was a brokken to splinters The windows went out with a smash The Glass was 'a brokken to pieces Theer wasn't a yell pane in the sash The fwoks raised a whally ba-lurrly The landlord was crazy an' mad The landlady stuid ahint t'teable Her luiks wer' beath solemn an' sad! Striding Edge song: Lyrics Anon. 1780, from 'Songs And Ballads Of Cumberland And The West Country' |