  Saw ye owt o’ ma’ lad, Gang down the waggon way? His pocket full of money, And his poke full of hay. Aye but he’s a bonny lad, As ever ye did see; Tho’ he’s sair pock brocken, And he’s blind of an e’e. There’s ne’er a lad like ma’ lad, Drives to a staith on Tyne; Tho’ coal-black on work days, On holidays he’s fine. Ma’ lad’s a bonny lad, The bonniest I see; Wiv his fine posey waistcoat, And buckles at his knee. |
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