TOP OFF TH'EGG
I were browt up in a terraced 'ouse
In a narrow dog-legged street;
There were nine on us, an' I were t'last,
Born one rainy neet.
General Strike were on at t' time;
No coal, no gas, no nowt
At least that's what my old man said;
I don't remember owt.
But what I do remember;
So does my sister Meg;
We thowt it were a luxury
When Dad gi' us top off th'egg.
Mi childer think I'm coddin'
An' they laugh in disbelief
As they tuck into their T-bone steaks,
Scampi, ducklin' an' roast beef.
I tell 'em 'ow mam pawned 'er clothes
At t'pawnshop on Boundary Road;
Eighteen pence, that's all she geet
T'ease 'er of 'er load.
She paid what she owed at t'corner shop
An' for t'rest o' t' week she'd beg;
But allus on a Friday neet
Dad gi' me top off th'egg.
I've made a pound or two sin' then;
My childer waint go short;
Three meals a day an' a car to t'schoo'
An' back home again they're brought.
I envy them, an' then again
I think how much they've missed,
Like home made toffee, nettle beer,
Sundays and solo whist.
They tek too much for granted
We's a' to tek 'em down a peg;
And do like my old dad did
Just gi' em top off th'egg.