by The Old 'Un, 10 June, 2006
We was packin’ up just ater fower
Late a’ternun and darkness was near.
It alus seems to ’appen the same
At that time of the year.
We wuz all froze, ‘sept ol Bill Grove
He reckoned he wasn’t cold no more,
Somethin to do with ‘is sailin’
Up by Russia in the fust world war.
Some birds was settlin’ in for the night
They was a perchin’ up on the roof.
Bert Bruce chuckled as he though
He could play a bit of a spoof.
“What colour’s that black crow”
Shouted Bert to Pecker Howell.
“I’m to busy to look”,
Said Pecker, “a claynin’ this trowel”
I asked ol’ Pecker,
Who I always called Fred,
If ‘e’d clearly ‘eard
What Bert ‘ad just said.
Pecker looked back and grunted
I’m too busy a claynin’ these tools
To spare any of my time
A listnin’ to fools.
We was back at it
Next day - just after eight.
Fust we lit a few sticks
In the Vicar’s new grate,
‘Cos the weather was worse
An’ them birds had all flown,
So we urched round the fire
Listenin to Bert ‘avin a moan.
Fred’s bike had fell over
An’ his flask had just bust.
He Said “I’ve got nuthin to yut
Not even yesterd’y’s crust”,
“An’ them birds ‘ave all gone
So now I’ll never know,
What was the colour
Of that ol’ black crow”.
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