Na every Geordie is red
(Tip of hat ter Basil Bunting)
(Tip of hat ter Basil Bunting)
Noocaastle bruwn!
Aye, aah know that
It’s made oot a Tyne watta
Filthy, mucky stoof
Doorty old river is the Tyne
Hey wood drink that eh?
Ma terrier, weal - he pees in it like
When we ganna oot fer a walk that way
I’m a Shields lad meeself
Hadaway man! North!
Nae the posh Sooth.
Me da, he were in merchant
In the war, drank a lot
Were good with his fists mind
But not mooch else.
Died drinking, were battered
Boot fell doon dead.
Did aah mourn? Did aah heck!
Big funeral aah can’t think why.
He were union, a steward
They all toorned oot, red flags an all!
Aah choked listening te them wurds
Me ma? She were that quiet
Na un knew when she passed on
Slipped away in hospital bed
She woudda liked the priest
Boot black birds with nowt ter give
Cancer, too many bairns – eight in all
Only aah was there! Nae booger cares!
Me? aah wurked fer post office
Drove a van. Forty years!
That were ‘til aah were robbed.
Some bairn after cash
Fer tabs, droogs an’ ale
He went ter prison
Boot me nerves were gone.
Aah got the pension like
Nowt mooch fer wat it were
Got by, boot then there were
A bit o’ compensation
Joost enough ter get by.
Nae lad, niver married
Na point! Hennies eh!
Good fer a laugh, a dance
Boot aah’d rather pay fer it
Than answer ter her tying oos doon.
Aye, me own boss and me own hoose!
Aah have Mrs Thatcher ter thank fer that
She were na all bad…
Nae point in getting personal son!
Wer yer a miner or summat?
Closed the pit yer say!
Aye, needed doing mind
Cheaper buying coal from abroad
Them Poles, dead canny
None of that union stoof fer thems
Yer cannae stop progress
Aye, aah knows they had unions boot
Thems fought the communist state
Not like here, our lot wanted a communist state!
English miners tried ter bring country
Ter its knees, yer canna allow that!
Yoong un!
Aah’m awld
Aah’ve heard it all before yer know!
Yer dad and his lot
Thought we owed em a living
They had ter stand on
Their own feet. There’s allus work
If yer prepared ter look!
Jobs? Nae jobs?
Don’t talk daft!
Why, yer think thems
Grow on trees.
It takes graft ter get one
Miners were too proud!
That Scargill,
Yer canna look oop ter he!
Crin’ inta yer ale
No point sitting at the club
Bletherin on aboot what were!
Aah told yer aah could nae work!
Me nerves gone, yer ever been
Face-ter- face with a gun?What yer da were beaten by polis?
He moost of done summat wrong
The miners,
Them started the batterings
Thugs with pick axe handles
Aah feel sorry fer youse
Growing oop listening ter all that
Aye they call that propaganda...
The Sun, why der yer ask?
Me? aah left school at fifteen
Aah can read and write mind
Walk the dog and go to library
Jeffery Archer, now there’s a cracking read!
Poetry! Yer moost be mad
Nowt rhymes an everyuns’ a born-again Geordie
Like those daft Unthanks girls braying on
Aah’d give them a piece of me mind
That Geordie land is long gone and
An’ good riddance
Boot aah still support the Toon
Unlike thems loons
Allus complaining and whining
That Ashley is a canny lad
Knows how ter run a business
The lads comin’ oot ter Local Hero
Now we’ve got a Geordie back in charge
Mind too many darkies fer me liking
Boot sum can play like
Season ticket? Yer moost be mad
Aah watch it down me local
Aye, it's closing. You heard then?
They’re closing libraries down
Post office is long gone
Hospitals doont seem ter keep yer in
Them nurses, weell lets joost say
They're not from round here
Better not get sick, its why aah walk
Boot sea air keeps me fit
Aah danae smoke or drink and me allotment
Meens aah have fresh veg fer me tea
Aah’m fond of leeks and cabbage
One back of cemetery
Right enough, that’s where aah’ll end oop
Resting me bones before too long.
Nae, canny lad
This England will do me
Once all the foreigners are gone
Now that Boris…
Oh, yer a Pakistani?
Yer don’t look it, yer hairs blond
Oh, yer dye it! Nowt queerer than folk!
Boot yer said yer dad were a miner?
Didn’t think folk let your lot down mines
Boot yer said yer dad were a miner?
Didn’t think folk let your lot down mines
Oh, yer mam were the blackie!
That moost ha’ gone doon well at co-op
Like a chinaman runnin’ a chippie!
It never wurks oot well,
Noodles and soy
With yer cod and chips
Weell, yer look a white man ter me…
Nae need fer insults son!
Show oos a bit of respect
Aah’m awld bonny lad
Did teachers not teach yer owt?
Racist, me? Booger off!
Aah’m English and proud son!
Each ter their own
Each ter their own
Not tha its yer business
Last time aah voted Liberal Democrats.
Boot aah like yon Boris,
Got oos oot of Europe
It’al make oos strong again
Standing as Britain.
Mind aah’m not fond of the Scots,
Or the Taffs and most of the Irish
Came here and took our jobs.
Labour, With Corbyn!
Don’t be daft!
He'll soon be gone
Only a fool would give Labour their vote
Aye, I know all aboot Jarrow March
Don’t lecture me
Trade unions!
Don’t make me laugh
On the take more like it
On the take more like it
Britain is better off without them
Its them that makes women think
They can do a man’s job
Aye, well yer dafter than a broosh
The way yer witter on
Aah’ll give yer a bit of advice laddie
Nat every Geordie is a red
No comments:
Post a Comment