Gooise an’ Giblet Pie

A Kersmass song I’ll sing, me lads, If yoh’ll bud hearken me; An incident e Kersmass time, E eighteen sixty-three: Withaht a stypher e the world— I’d scorn to tell a lie— I dined wi a gentleman O’ Gooise an’ giblet pie.

I’ve been e lots o’ feeds, me lads, An hed some rare tuck-aahts; Blooid-pudding days wi killing pigs, Minch pies an’ thumping taahts; But I wir’d in an reight anall, An’ supp’d when I wor dry, Fer I wor dining wi a gentleman O’ gooise an’ giblet pie.

I hardly knew what ail’d me, lads, I felt so fearful praad; Me ears prick’d up, me collar raise, Taards a hauf-a-yard; Me chest stood aaht, me charley in, Like horns stuck aaht me tie; Fer I dined wi a gentleman O’ gooise an’ giblet pie.

I offan think o’ t’feed, me lads, When t’ gentleman I meet; Bud nauther on us speiks a word Abaht that glorious neet; In fact, I hardly can mesel, I feel so fearful shy; Fer I ate a deal o’ t’roasted gooise, And warmed his giblet pie.