Alan Lavercombe
  I'll tell thee t' sad tale of Sam Arkwright
Leavin' work at t' bus depot in town,
'E were 'alf way back 'ome when it started for t' rain,
And from then on it persisted down.

When 'e's got 'ome about appast midnight,
Our Sam 'e were soaked through to t' skin,
An' 'e thought 'This would never 'ave 'appened
If I'd not left me mac in t' canteen.

Well, 'e's made 'imself quick cup of cocoa,
And toddled off smartish to bed.
T' were as well that 'is wife were pretendin' to sleep,
'Cos Sam, poor old chap, felt 'alf dead.

Well, Sam woke up t' next day wi' t' nose drippin',
'Ead spinnin', bunged up, bleary-eyed,
An' 'e would 'ave spent t' rest of t' day kippin',
If e'd not coughed an' sneezed, and then ..... died!

Now, in spite of 'im bein' a bus driver,
Sam weren't a bad lad, an' 'is fate
Were to go wingin' uppards to 'eaven,
Where Saint Peter stood standing at t' gate.
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