GOD BLESS THESE POOR FOLK!
GGod bless these poor folk that are strivin’By means that are honest an’ true,For something to keep ’em alive inThis world ’at we’re scramblin’ through;As th’ life ov a mon’s full o’ feightin’,A poor soul that wants to feight fair,Should never be grudged ov his heytin’,For th’ hardest o’th battle’s his share.Chorus.—As th’ life ov a mon.This world’s kin to trouble; i’th best on’t,There’s mony sad changes come reawnd;We wandern abeawt to find rest on’t,An’ th’ worm yammers for us i’th’ greawnd;May he that’ll wortch while he’s able,Be never long hungry nor dry;An’ th’ childer ’at sit at his table,—God bless’ em wi’ plenty, say I.Chorus.—As th’ life ov a mon.An’ he that can feel it a pleasur’To leeten misfortin an’ pain,—May his pantry be olez full measur’,To cut at, and come to again;May God bless his cup and his cupbort,A theawsan for one that he gives;An’ his heart be a bumper o’ comfort,To th’ very last minute he lives!Chorus.—As th’ life ov a mon.An’ he that scorns ale to his victual,Is welcome to let it alone;There’s some can be wise with a little,An’ some that are foolish wi’ noan;An’ some are so quare i’ their natur’That nought wi’ their stomachs agree;But, he that would liefer drink wayter,Shall never be stinted by me.Chorus.—As th’ life ov a mon.One likes to see hearty folk wortchin’,An’ weary folk havin’ a rest;One likes to yer poor women singin’To th’ little things laid o’ their breast;Good cooks are my favourite doctors;Good livers my parsons shall be;An’ ony poor craytur ’at’s clemmin,May come have a meawthful wi’ me.Chorus.—As th’ life ov a mon.Owd Time,—he’s a troublesome codger,—Keeps nudgin’ us on to decay,An’ whispers, “Yo’re nobbut a lodger:Get ready for goin’ away;”Then let’s ha’ no skulkin’ nor sniv’lin’,Whatever misfortins befo’,God bless him that fends for his livin’,An’ houds up his yed through it o’!Chorus.—As th’ life ov a mon.
GGod bless these poor folk that are strivin’By means that are honest an’ true,For something to keep ’em alive inThis world ’at we’re scramblin’ through;As th’ life ov a mon’s full o’ feightin’,A poor soul that wants to feight fair,Should never be grudged ov his heytin’,For th’ hardest o’th battle’s his share.Chorus.—As th’ life ov a mon.This world’s kin to trouble; i’th best on’t,There’s mony sad changes come reawnd;We wandern abeawt to find rest on’t,An’ th’ worm yammers for us i’th’ greawnd;May he that’ll wortch while he’s able,Be never long hungry nor dry;An’ th’ childer ’at sit at his table,—God bless’ em wi’ plenty, say I.Chorus.—As th’ life ov a mon.An’ he that can feel it a pleasur’To leeten misfortin an’ pain,—May his pantry be olez full measur’,To cut at, and come to again;May God bless his cup and his cupbort,A theawsan for one that he gives;An’ his heart be a bumper o’ comfort,To th’ very last minute he lives!Chorus.—As th’ life ov a mon.An’ he that scorns ale to his victual,Is welcome to let it alone;There’s some can be wise with a little,An’ some that are foolish wi’ noan;An’ some are so quare i’ their natur’That nought wi’ their stomachs agree;But, he that would liefer drink wayter,Shall never be stinted by me.Chorus.—As th’ life ov a mon.One likes to see hearty folk wortchin’,An’ weary folk havin’ a rest;One likes to yer poor women singin’To th’ little things laid o’ their breast;Good cooks are my favourite doctors;Good livers my parsons shall be;An’ ony poor craytur ’at’s clemmin,May come have a meawthful wi’ me.Chorus.—As th’ life ov a mon.Owd Time,—he’s a troublesome codger,—Keeps nudgin’ us on to decay,An’ whispers, “Yo’re nobbut a lodger:Get ready for goin’ away;”Then let’s ha’ no skulkin’ nor sniv’lin’,Whatever misfortins befo’,God bless him that fends for his livin’,An’ houds up his yed through it o’!Chorus.—As th’ life ov a mon.
GGod bless these poor folk that are strivin’By means that are honest an’ true,For something to keep ’em alive inThis world ’at we’re scramblin’ through;As th’ life ov a mon’s full o’ feightin’,A poor soul that wants to feight fair,Should never be grudged ov his heytin’,For th’ hardest o’th battle’s his share.
G
Chorus.—As th’ life ov a mon.
This world’s kin to trouble; i’th best on’t,There’s mony sad changes come reawnd;We wandern abeawt to find rest on’t,An’ th’ worm yammers for us i’th’ greawnd;May he that’ll wortch while he’s able,Be never long hungry nor dry;An’ th’ childer ’at sit at his table,—God bless’ em wi’ plenty, say I.
Chorus.—As th’ life ov a mon.
An’ he that can feel it a pleasur’To leeten misfortin an’ pain,—May his pantry be olez full measur’,To cut at, and come to again;May God bless his cup and his cupbort,A theawsan for one that he gives;An’ his heart be a bumper o’ comfort,To th’ very last minute he lives!
Chorus.—As th’ life ov a mon.
An’ he that scorns ale to his victual,Is welcome to let it alone;There’s some can be wise with a little,An’ some that are foolish wi’ noan;An’ some are so quare i’ their natur’That nought wi’ their stomachs agree;But, he that would liefer drink wayter,Shall never be stinted by me.
Chorus.—As th’ life ov a mon.
One likes to see hearty folk wortchin’,An’ weary folk havin’ a rest;One likes to yer poor women singin’To th’ little things laid o’ their breast;Good cooks are my favourite doctors;Good livers my parsons shall be;An’ ony poor craytur ’at’s clemmin,May come have a meawthful wi’ me.
Chorus.—As th’ life ov a mon.
Owd Time,—he’s a troublesome codger,—Keeps nudgin’ us on to decay,An’ whispers, “Yo’re nobbut a lodger:Get ready for goin’ away;”Then let’s ha’ no skulkin’ nor sniv’lin’,Whatever misfortins befo’,God bless him that fends for his livin’,An’ houds up his yed through it o’!
Chorus.—As th’ life ov a mon.