Gooise an' Giblet Pie

A Kersmas song I'll sing, mi lads, If ye'll bud hearken me; An incident i' Kersmas time, I' eighteen sixty-three; Whithaht a stypher i' the world— I'd scorn to tell a lie— I dined wi a gentleman O' gooise an' giblet pie.

I've been i' lots o' feeds, mi lads, An' hed some rare tucks-aght; Blood-puddin days with killin' pigs, Minch pies an' thumpin' tarts; But I wired in, an' reight an' all, An' supp'd when I wor dry, Fer I wor dinin' wi' a gentleman O' gooise an' giblet pie.

I hardly knew what ail'd ma, lads, I felt so fearful prahd; Mi ears pricked up, mi collar rahse, T'ards a hawf-a-yard; Mi chest stood aght, mi charley in, Like horns stuck aght mi tie; Fer I dined wi' a gentleman O' gooise an' giblet pie.

I often think o' t'feed, mi lads, When t' gentleman I meet; Bud nauther on us speiks a word Abaht that glorious neet; In fact, I hardly can misel, I feel so fearful shy; Fer I ate a deal o' t'rosted gooise, An' warm'd his giblet pie.