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The Oldham Tinkers
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Billy Winker
Billy Winker drove a cart
For a brewer deawn at Shay;
Wi full ale barrels he'd start
On a journey every day;
Empty kegs he'd get fro some,
But- o th'shameful tale to tell-
When wi th'empties he geet whom
He were oft brimful hissel.
Oh Billy! What a mon!
Life's last bodle soon tha spent,
Neaw tha's supped o' th'ale tha con;
It were getting' time tha went!
Customers, never thinking wrong,
Used to give him allowance glasses,
Mild or bitther wake an'sthrong,
Every mak fro' Coop's to Bass's;
Winker olez sattl't th'lot,
Owt were reet his spark to sleck;
Jug or bottle, glass or pot,
He could empty down his neck.
Oh Billy! What a mon!
Life's last bodle soon tha spent,
Neaw tha's supped o' th'ale tha con;
It were getting' time tha went!
Bill grew fat, an' Bill grew fatther,
Whol his nose wi' shame went pink.
He'd forgetten t' taste o' watther
Sin' he'd taen to mix his dhrink;
So it is bad habits floor
Th' best o' folk 'at live bi sweat;
If he'd stuck to milk it's sure
Th' fellah could ha' bin here yet.
Oh Billy! What a mon!
Life's last bodle soon tha spent,
Neaw tha's supped o' th'ale tha con;
It were getting' time tha went!
Billy's maisther, soft I' th' yead,
Co'd his mon in one fine day;
''Here's nine gallon, lad,' he said,
''Tak it wom-- tha's nowt to pay.
Tha con swallow well, aw think,
Or tha'rt ill belied bi folk;
Set thyself to side this drink,
An aw'll time thee, just for the joke.'
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Oh Billy! What a mon!
Life's last bodle soon tha spent,
Neaw tha's supped o' th'ale tha con;
It were getting' time tha went!
Billy thanked him wi' a grin,
Barrel on his shoolder cocked,
Made for whoam, an safely in,
Front an' back his doors he locked,
Tapped his bung, an' deawn he sit,
Bucklin' to a neet's hard work;
Th'ale so fast began to flit
It were welly gone bi dark.
Oh Billy! What a mon!
Life's last bodle soon tha spent,
Neaw tha's supped o' th'ale tha con;
It were getting' time tha went!
Mornin' coome- bi nine o' o'clock
Back wi t' barrel billy went,
Stonnin steady as a rock,
Fillin th'spot wi barmy scent.
'Done bi neaw!' his maister cries;
'Billy Winker, tha'rt a cure!
'Done! Why, mon, to tell no lies,
For th' supper aw'd to fot some more.'
Oh Billy! What a mon!
Life's last bodle soon tha spent,
Neaw tha's supped o' th'ale tha con;
It were getting' time tha went!
'Put thi barrel deawn in't nook,'
T'brewer said; ''tha's sattll't me!'
Bill ne'er shapped to tak his hook,
But stood his greaund wi twinkling' e'e.
'What art standing there fer? Bowt!'
T'maisther sheauted in a crack;
'Comebilly;'s there not
At o' for bringin th'barrel back?'
Oh Billy! What a mon!
Life's last bodle soon tha spent,
Neaw tha's supped o' th'ale tha con;
It were getting' time tha went!
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