Alan Lavercombe 1986
  Now tha' s 'eard about Albert an' t' lion
Wot' s ate 'im an' spat out 'is 'at.
Tha' d 'ave thought Albert would 'ave known better,
I mean, lions, they're buggers for that!

An' that Daniel, tha knows, 'im in t' Bible,
Dead lucky 'e were, there's no doubt.
Any bookmaker knows, when tha' s in t' lions den,
T' lion's backside's the only way out.

But the story I'm going to tell thee
Concerns a young lad named Androckles.
'E sounds Greek to me, but 'e were born in Rome,
Local lad and not one of them grockles.

This lad liked goin' out Sunday lunchtime,
Game o' darts an' a few pints of bevvy,
Then, come chuckin' out time, look of rapture on t' face,
Like tha gets pickin' up summat 'eavy.

Well, one Sunday, Androckles, on 'is way back from t' pub,
Were staggerin' 'ome a bit plastered,
When 'e' s met this 'ere lion wi' thorn in 'is paw
An' Androckles thought "Ah, poor old lion."

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