  I'ZE a Yorkshireman just come to town, And my coming to town was a gay day, For fortune has here set me down Waiting gentleman to a fine lady. My lady gives galas and routs, And her treats of the town are the talks here; But nothing i'ze seen thereabouts, Equal one that was given in Yorkshire. Rum ti iddity iddity, rum ti iddity ido, Rum ti iddity iddity, fal de ral, lal de ral lido. Johnny Fig was a white and green grocer, In business as brisk as an eel, sir, None than John in the shop could stick closer, But his wife thought it quite ungenteel, sir. Her neighbours resolv'd to cut out, sir, And astonish the rustic parishioners; She invited them all to a rout sir, And ax'd all the village musicioners. Rum ti, &c. The company met gay as larks, sir, Drawn forth all as fine as blown roses; The concert commenc'd with the clark, sir, Who chanted the Vicar and Moses; The barber sung Gallery of Wigs, sir, The gentlemen all said 'twas the dandy; And the ladies encor'd Johnny Fig, sir, Who volunteer'd Drops of Brandy. Rum ti, &c. The baker he sung a good batch, While the lawyer for harmony willing, While the bailiff he join'd in the catch, And the notes of the butcher were killing; The wheelwright he put in his spoke, The schoolmaster flogg'd on with fury; The coachman he play'd the Black Joke, And the fish-woman sung a Bravura. Rum ti, &c. To strike the assembly with wonder, Madam Fig scream'd a song loud as Boreas, Soon wak'd farmer Thrasher's dog Thunder, Who starting up, joined in the chorus; While a donkey the melody marking, Chim'd in too, which made a wag say, sir, "Attend to the rector of Barking's Duet with the vicar of Bray, sir." Rum ti, &c. A brine tub half full of beef, salted, Madam Fig had trick'd out for a seat, sir, Where the taylor to sing was exalted, But the cov'ring crack'd under his feet, sir; Snip was sous'd in the brine, but, soon rising, Bawl'd out, while they laugh'd at his grief, sir, "Is it a matter so monstrous surprising, To see pickled cabbage with beef, sir?" Rum ti, &c. Then a ball after the concert gave way, And for dancing no souls could be riper, So struck up the Devil to Pay, While Johnny Fig paid the piper; But the best thing came after the ball, For finish the whole with perfection, Madam Fig ax'd the gentlefolks all To sup on a cold collation. Rum ti, &c. |
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