Yo’ con see ‘um on a Sat’dee,
A’wundrin’ roun’ like sheep,
Theyre fairces lung an’ mis’rable,
Theyre eyes arf shut wi’ sleep;
A’looded up wi’ parcels,
An’ shappin’ bags an’ all,
While theyre misuses stand gassin’
Aroun’ the market stall.

It meks me sad ter see ‘em theer,
A’wairstin ‘arf theyre life,
Jus’ draggin’ round wi’ shappin’ bags,
Ter please a naggin’ wife;
That’s why these ‘ere men snuff it
Much suener than they should,
‘Cos the treatment o’ theyre womenfolk
‘As nipped ‘em in the bud.

A pal o’ mine naime ‘Ikey Joones
Who’s arf the size o’ me,
Wairks ‘arder wickends when ‘e’s ‘um
Then when ‘e moulds wi’ we,
It’s ‘Will yo’ fatch the groc’ry ?’
An’ ‘Goo an’ get the maite !’
Then ‘Dew that bowl o’ washin’ up!’
No wunder ‘e’s lost weight.

Ar’ve ‘ad a bit o’ common sense,
Ar’m ‘appy an’ carefree;
Mar mother goz aroun’ the shaps,
‘Er’s got respec’ fer me.
Why on’y th’ other Sat’dee,
‘Er said ‘Yo’ sit yer down,
An’ peel them few pertairters,
While ar goo up the town.’

An’ when ‘er cum back wi’ the bagss
Ar jumped up right away,
Bur ‘er says ‘Do’e yo’ fret yerself
Jus’ mek a cup o’ tae.’
Ar went ter cook the dinner,
Bur ‘er says ‘No yo’ wo’,
Yo’ goo an’ mek the beds, mar mon,
This aye no job fer yo!’

 

Why, bless yer life, ‘er’s shappin’ now,
An’ ar’m ‘ere nice an’ snug;
Ar’ve on’y gorra dust the rewm,
An’ sweep the blewmin’ rug,
An’ when ar’ve dun the washin’,
Ar’ll ger’ all shairved an’ slicked
An goo’n goo up the pictures,
‘Cos I aye womanlicked