by John Slater The Cheshire lads ventured to Lancashire A Masonic mission it was They turned off where M6 was cobbled To t'Masonic down from t'lamp in Oss Up from t'lamp the Gobbiners who were smugglers And fishermen down on th' Liverpool Cut Caught shoals of white tripe by the netful Then sold it by th'yard or by th'foot But down in their boats under th'tripe catch Was booty that was stashed in a hurry That booty was Lancashire black pudding Smuggled over t'border from Bury Now Sid and his mates from t'Masonic Were having an Olde English Night And bought from t'Gobbiners some black pudding And ten yards of tripe glistening white Now Cheshire lads tucked into their dinners And one shouted to t'warden in th'west You buggers are trying to kill me You've served me your Grandad's old vest The warden then tried to placate him Then t'Cheshire lad all of a sudden Laid out our worthy west warden With a well aimed Bury black pudding Now Sid in his role as the Master Soon calmed down the anger and hype By explaining to t'Cheshire lad that his dinner Was a local delicacy called tripe Sid gave some to take back to Cheshire But being from Cheshire and quick They cultivated it back in their county By growing it in strips on a stick Now the tripe it grows in a plant pot It grows slow, not in a hurry We've just exported latest tripe crop To a butcher in t'middle o' Bury
The end