These verses were written soon after the Old Age Pensions Bill came into operation. I’d walk frae here to Skipton,
Ten mile o’ clarty[1] lanes,
If I might see him face to face
An’ thank him for his pains.
He’s ta’en me out o’ t’ Bastile,[2]
He’s gi’en me life that’s free:
Five shill’n a week for fuglin’[3] Death
Is what Lord George gives me.
He gives me leet an’ firin’,
An’ flour to bak i’ t’ yoon.[4]
I’ve tea to mesh for ivery meal
An’ sup all t’ afternoon.
I’ve nowt to do but thank him,
An’ mak’ a cross wi’ t’ pen;
Five shillin’ a week for nobbut that!
Gow! he’s the jewel o’ men.
I niver mell on pol’tics,
But I do love a lord;
He spends his savin’s like a king,
Wheer other fowks ’ll hoard.
I know a vast o’ widdies
That’s seen their seventieth year;
Lord George, he addles brass for all,
Though lots on ’t goes for beer.
If my owd man were livin’,
He’d say as I spak true;
He couldn’t thole them yallow Rads,
But awlus voted blue.
An’ parson’s wife, shoo telled me
That we’ll sooin go to t’ poll;
I hope shoo’s reight; I’ll vote for George,
Wi’ all my heart an’ soul.
I don’t know wheer he springs frae,
Happen it’s down Leeds way;
But ivery neet an’ mornin’
For his lang life I pray.
He’s ta’en me out o’ t’ Bastile,
He’s gi’en me life that’s free:
Five shill’n a week for fuglin’ Death
Is what Lord George gives me.
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