THE WEDDING AT NUMBER 18 CLEGG STREET.
by
Mike Harding

'Twas a fine foggy day in Septober
The rain it were bucketing down
So I picked up some buckets - and I flogged 'em outright
To the council for half a crown

Through the drizzle a form come walking
Clad in an old flannel vest
He wore nowt on his feet but bunnions
And a cauliflour pinned to his chest

What a man has to do for a living
He said as he passed slowly by
And I recognized him, it was Acroyd
I could tell by his roving black eye

'Cos it had roved off his head to his kneecaps
And was stuck there swivelling round
When lasses walked past it looked up, aghast
And at other times looked at the ground
  'Ay up lad,' I said, 'eh, how are ya?'
He smiled, his teeth blackened and broke
He said, 'I'm marrying a lass in the morning'
I said, 'Its better than marrying a bloke'

So we went to the registry office next day
On back of bus - 59
The bride was too wide to get up and ride
So she run like bugg'ry behind

At Oldham the hill was against us
It was far too steep for the bus
So I held the brides aspidistras
And made it easier for her to push

To Cheers and Hurrahs she shoved us
Right to the top of the hill
But her eyelashesran down her face with sweat
So she'd a tash and mutton chops too

After the wedding was over
We went to the Clogger's Arms
Where they'd tripe and cow heel and parkin
Black peas and black puddin' on barms

The bride cut the cake with her false teeth
'Cos someone'd buggered off with the knife
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