Culture for any Scousers present!
20 Mar '12 13:01Scouse poem:
Gerrup der la! De knocker-up sleeps light;
Dawn taps yer winder, ends anudder night;
And Lo! The dog-eared moggies from next-door
Tear up the jigger fer an early fight.
Half-dreaming, half par’latic on me back;
0 Jeez. another day before yiz, Jack;
And groping for de ciggies by me bed
I sought de drag dat frees me from de rack.
De Wend’s just like dat pub in ‘Ackins ‘Ey,
De towels on de taps all bleedin’ day;
Yer time is up before a decent sup
Dat mingy Landlord, late, says: “On yer way”.
Many’s the fella dat I use’ter mug;
Ard cases who could bevvy by the jug.
Dey’ve cadged dere last latch-lifter out a me
And werms live jockey-bar inside dere lug.
So shun de Cokes and join me in de Pub;
But ‘urry, Life is short, aye dere’s the rub.
De Liver Bird’s already on de wing
And Time’s de one thing, mates, yer’ll never sub!
0 Thou who didst wid Threlfalls and wid gin
Allow us all to take life on de chin;
Are you de self-same unrelenting Sod
Who slips us all de final Mickey-Finn?
So come, me mates, and fill yer boots wid Beer;
You may be in Ford Cemetery next year;
Termorrer? Listen La, it never comes,
Let Fally drown yer sorrows, its de gear.
Poor Uncle Tom no longer bears de ‘od,
Unless ee’s still a brickie up wid God;
And Clayballs, Guardian of de Mystery
In Smithie lies, six feet below de sod!
Dey say dat pile a bricks in Calderstones
Was once a Druids doss-house full of thrones;
But dig at around where kids now sport and play
And all you’ll find’s discarded rags and bones.
Alas dat Rose should vanish with me mate
And leave them unpaid bevvies on de slate;
With all dem fag ends, soaked beyond repair
And all dem hours lost though minutes late.
And a lad I seldom went ter school;
Just bare-arsed round de streets of Liverpool.
lost all me coloured ollies down de grid
And skipped de leckies to de stick of Doom!
O Christ I’d pawn me heart in Rotherhams
And even swap de buses for de trams
For a vintage butty spread wid Hartley’s Jam
Or a day at Blackler’s Grotto wid me Mam
O for a cob of chuck beneat de boughs
The Footy Echo an’ a pan of Scouse
A Black & Tan, and Maggie sweatin’ bricks
In Sevvies rough, dats paradise enough
De ref no question makes of rights or wrongs
Just makes de rules up as ‘e goes along.
And many a foul as penalized de weak
While many an offside rule supports de strong.
Life’s like a game of pitch ‘n toss
But youre de mug dats thrown up wid de boss
Its heads a penny, but de ‘ead is yours
Somehow you find dat every call’s a loss
When I was young half of me time was spent
Up jowlers playing ‘ookey wid de rent
Was always skint and found I use’ter go
Down de same jiggers as whereup I went
Dats put der top on ut!
-m 😉
Gerrup der la! De knocker-up sleeps light;
Dawn taps yer winder, ends anudder night;
And Lo! The dog-eared moggies from next-door
Tear up the jigger fer an early fight.
Half-dreaming, half par’latic on me back;
0 Jeez. another day before yiz, Jack;
And groping for de ciggies by me bed
I sought de drag dat frees me from de rack.
De Wend’s just like dat pub in ‘Ackins ‘Ey,
De towels on de taps all bleedin’ day;
Yer time is up before a decent sup
Dat mingy Landlord, late, says: “On yer way”.
Many’s the fella dat I use’ter mug;
Ard cases who could bevvy by the jug.
Dey’ve cadged dere last latch-lifter out a me
And werms live jockey-bar inside dere lug.
So shun de Cokes and join me in de Pub;
But ‘urry, Life is short, aye dere’s the rub.
De Liver Bird’s already on de wing
And Time’s de one thing, mates, yer’ll never sub!
0 Thou who didst wid Threlfalls and wid gin
Allow us all to take life on de chin;
Are you de self-same unrelenting Sod
Who slips us all de final Mickey-Finn?
So come, me mates, and fill yer boots wid Beer;
You may be in Ford Cemetery next year;
Termorrer? Listen La, it never comes,
Let Fally drown yer sorrows, its de gear.
Poor Uncle Tom no longer bears de ‘od,
Unless ee’s still a brickie up wid God;
And Clayballs, Guardian of de Mystery
In Smithie lies, six feet below de sod!
Dey say dat pile a bricks in Calderstones
Was once a Druids doss-house full of thrones;
But dig at around where kids now sport and play
And all you’ll find’s discarded rags and bones.
Alas dat Rose should vanish with me mate
And leave them unpaid bevvies on de slate;
With all dem fag ends, soaked beyond repair
And all dem hours lost though minutes late.
And a lad I seldom went ter school;
Just bare-arsed round de streets of Liverpool.
lost all me coloured ollies down de grid
And skipped de leckies to de stick of Doom!
O Christ I’d pawn me heart in Rotherhams
And even swap de buses for de trams
For a vintage butty spread wid Hartley’s Jam
Or a day at Blackler’s Grotto wid me Mam
O for a cob of chuck beneat de boughs
The Footy Echo an’ a pan of Scouse
A Black & Tan, and Maggie sweatin’ bricks
In Sevvies rough, dats paradise enough
De ref no question makes of rights or wrongs
Just makes de rules up as ‘e goes along.
And many a foul as penalized de weak
While many an offside rule supports de strong.
Life’s like a game of pitch ‘n toss
But youre de mug dats thrown up wid de boss
Its heads a penny, but de ‘ead is yours
Somehow you find dat every call’s a loss
When I was young half of me time was spent
Up jowlers playing ‘ookey wid de rent
Was always skint and found I use’ter go
Down de same jiggers as whereup I went
Dats put der top on ut!
-m 😉
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