Bernard Wrigley
Billy Bennett
 One day not very long ago in a patch of pea soup fog
I put my scarf and coat on for a walk outside wi' t'dog
The air was thick, you couldn't see a yard or two down t'street
When something stopped in front of me - a pair of policeman's feet
There grew from them some trousers, they were dyed in navy blue 
A helmet, a coat and a pair of hands, with a notebook in 'em too
I pretends I hasn't seen him, like, there being so much fog 
Then a thund'rous voice booms out, 'Now wheres your licence for your dog?' 

Well, times were bad and jobs were scarce, I'd had to go on t'dole 
And all the money I'd scraped together I'd spent on food and coal
He knew I had no licence, he was kicking up a fuss
He says, 'Bring it in tomorrow or you'll be having your tea with us'
So all next day I sat at home and looked at t'chimbley flue 
Wond'ring if he'd come around and thinking what to do.
Then I heard a noise at t'top o't'road, it sounded like flat feet 
And I knew it was that copper as he trundled down the street.

So I hid myself behind the door as he began to knock 
He'd no idea I were so near I could even smell his socks.
When he got tired he went away and I brewed me a cup of tea,
And I thought whatever happened, t'Iast laugh'd be on me.
So next day two burly rozzers come a-swaggering in the place 
But I had my licence ready, and a grin all o'er my face.
He says, 'Ey up. you were stony broke when I met you in the fog
How can you afford a licence?' I says, 'I've sold my bloody dog' 
The end