Continuing the Lancashire tradition

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  • royb
    Major General

    • Mar 2006
    • 2483

    Continuing the Lancashire tradition

    This is

    Napleons Retreat From Wigan


    It was on the plains of Irlam
    In the year of 1815
    Napoleon was sat in his long-johns
    Suppin Brasso wi' Josephine.

    He'd chewed his nails to the very quick
    So he chewed 'em down ter the slow
    He were chewin very hard, when up the back yard
    Came a corporal, his nose all aglow.

    'Hey bierd mon Capitane' he cried
    'Sacred bleu, mor da lore, parlez vooks'
    And Boney spat out a big lump of nail
    And said, 'Bugger me whats to do?'

    'Ze lads ave just cum back from ze wigan' said corporal
    'Nous played um at ze billiards last night
    'But ze Wigan lads cheated and give us wobbly cues
    'And sewed all ze pockets up tight.

    'And they put lard ont' chalk and glue on nous balls
    And stuffed up our wellies wi barbed wire
    'Then they bunged up our muskets wi parkin,
    'So we couldn't get the buggers to fire.

    'Then we had to walk 'ome after t'punch up
    'Cos tram guard looked at us right black
    'He said 'BOG OFF FROGGIES'
    So we had t'leg it all way back.'

    'Ecky le Pecky' said Boney
    'I'll show em what teams the best'
    And he had a quick chew of his fingernails
    And shoved his hand up his vest.

    He said dish out some spud guns and catapults too
    And give t'lads peashooters all round
    We'll burn down the pie 'n' pea shops
    And raze chippies down to t'ground.

    'Us'll run through Wiggin like a dose of Andrews
    'We'll make um all tremble and quake
    'We'll loot and we'll pillage, and we'll pinch things as well
    'And we'll smash all the Eccles Cakes.'

    Well he borrowed the Irlam muck cart
    And some spuds to roast on t'way
    And with all of his lads on t'wagon
    He pointed the horse wiggin way

    But the weather turned rotten to spite him
    It snowed, rained and hailed and all t' rest
    So Boney started sulking and chewing his nails
    And sticking his hand up his vest

    Soon the horse wouldn't go no further
    It was weary and smelly and old
    And it asked for a blanket and time and a half
    And boots for working in t' cold

    So they trapes through the snow for a fortneet
    Dischuffed to the knickers they were
    They'd icicles hanging from their nom de plumes
    And frost all over their hair.

    Well they trudged through the slush round the slagheaps
    And up by t'canal and by t'pier
    Till they came to big doormat in t' snow that said BOG OFF!!
    And Boney said, 'Ey up lads were 'ere.'

    But the gates of Wiggin was bolted tight
    Said Boney, 'Phoo what a pest!'
    And he had another chew on his fingernails
    And stuck his hand up his vest

    There he stood at the front gates of Wiggin
    Frozen tears coming in lumps down his chin
    And he kicked on t' front door wi is wellies in temper
    And said 'Come on cheeky buggers, let us in!'

    But there on the front door of Wiggin
    A notice he read with a groan
    It said 'We heard as how you were comin
    So we buggered off, there's no one at home.'

    Well Boney he was right blazin'
    But Wiggin were blazin also
    Cos they'd left t'chip pan on t'gas ring
    And Wiggin were all aglow.

    So they all got round and warmed up a bit
    And as the flames grew higher
    He took out a food parcel he got off his gran
    And toasted his crackers on t'fire.

    Now Wiggin burned down to ashes
    And it got cold so they had to retreat
    And they'd eaten their boots and socks on t' way
    So they had to walk home in bare feet.

    Retreating were worst part of t'business
    'Cos' lads were starting to see red
    And they hissed and booed when he walked up in front
    And chucked snowballs at the back of his head.

    Now Boney were right pigged off wi all this
    So that night he worked out a plan
    He pawned all the lads muskets as they lay there in t' kip
    And he came home on t' number 11 tram.

    It was dark when he got back to their street
    And stars where twinecklin above
    And Boney's passions rose and bursted all his buttons
    As he thought of Joseffluent, his love.

    He stomped the snow off his boots,
    Opened the door and stuck his rifle in 't plant pot in t' hall
    He said 'I'm home sweetie pie, light of mi life'
    Josephine shouted- *##**# (rude things).

    'Don't think you can go out bloody conquering' she said
    'Stopping out all night wit' bloody lads,
    'You're the worst bloody stop-out in Irlam you.'
    Boney said, 'There's no answer to that!'

    'You've not finished papering the lobby yet
    This house is a right bloody mess,
    'And you just sit there chewin at your nails
    'And sticking your hand up your vest.

    Well she ran down stairs and smashed im in t' gob
    And when he tried get into bed
    She got right nasty and picked up the po
    And emptied it over his head.

    So you see what they say in the hysterical books
    Isn't always quite right
    It was Boney who got deaf and dumb breakfast
    And Josephluent who said 'Not tonight!'

    For she made him sleep downstairs on the hearthrug
    Tossin and turning without rest
    Kicking the cat and chewing his nails
    And sticking his hand up his vest.


    http://www.plusplace.co.uk
    royb@plusplace.co.uk

  • Girlonthehill
    General

    • Oct 2005
    • 4193

    #2
    Re: Continuing the Lancashire tradition

    Originally posted by royb
    This is

    Napleons Retreat From Wigan


    It was on the plains of Irlam
    In the year of 1815
    Napoleon was sat in his long-johns
    Suppin Brasso wi' Josephine.

    He'd chewed his nails to the very quick
    So he chewed 'em down ter the slow
    He were chewin very hard, when up the back yard
    Came a corporal, his nose all aglow.

    'Hey bierd mon Capitane' he cried
    'Sacred bleu, mor da lore, parlez vooks'
    And Boney spat out a big lump of nail
    And said, 'Bugger me whats to do?'

    'Ze lads ave just cum back from ze wigan' said corporal
    'Nous played um at ze billiards last night
    'But ze Wigan lads cheated and give us wobbly cues
    'And sewed all ze pockets up tight.

    'And they put lard ont' chalk and glue on nous balls
    And stuffed up our wellies wi barbed wire
    'Then they bunged up our muskets wi parkin,
    'So we couldn't get the buggers to fire.

    'Then we had to walk 'ome after t'punch up
    'Cos tram guard looked at us right black
    'He said 'BOG OFF FROGGIES'
    So we had t'leg it all way back.'

    'Ecky le Pecky' said Boney
    'I'll show em what teams the best'
    And he had a quick chew of his fingernails
    And shoved his hand up his vest.

    He said dish out some spud guns and catapults too
    And give t'lads peashooters all round
    We'll burn down the pie 'n' pea shops
    And raze chippies down to t'ground.

    'Us'll run through Wiggin like a dose of Andrews
    'We'll make um all tremble and quake
    'We'll loot and we'll pillage, and we'll pinch things as well
    'And we'll smash all the Eccles Cakes.'

    Well he borrowed the Irlam muck cart
    And some spuds to roast on t'way
    And with all of his lads on t'wagon
    He pointed the horse wiggin way

    But the weather turned rotten to spite him
    It snowed, rained and hailed and all t' rest
    So Boney started sulking and chewing his nails
    And sticking his hand up his vest

    Soon the horse wouldn't go no further
    It was weary and smelly and old
    And it asked for a blanket and time and a half
    And boots for working in t' cold

    So they trapes through the snow for a fortneet
    Dischuffed to the knickers they were
    They'd icicles hanging from their nom de plumes
    And frost all over their hair.

    Well they trudged through the slush round the slagheaps
    And up by t'canal and by t'pier
    Till they came to big doormat in t' snow that said BOG OFF!!
    And Boney said, 'Ey up lads were 'ere.'

    But the gates of Wiggin was bolted tight
    Said Boney, 'Phoo what a pest!'
    And he had another chew on his fingernails
    And stuck his hand up his vest

    There he stood at the front gates of Wiggin
    Frozen tears coming in lumps down his chin
    And he kicked on t' front door wi is wellies in temper
    And said 'Come on cheeky buggers, let us in!'

    But there on the front door of Wiggin
    A notice he read with a groan
    It said 'We heard as how you were comin
    So we buggered off, there's no one at home.'

    Well Boney he was right blazin'
    But Wiggin were blazin also
    Cos they'd left t'chip pan on t'gas ring
    And Wiggin were all aglow.

    So they all got round and warmed up a bit
    And as the flames grew higher
    He took out a food parcel he got off his gran
    And toasted his crackers on t'fire.

    Now Wiggin burned down to ashes
    And it got cold so they had to retreat
    And they'd eaten their boots and socks on t' way
    So they had to walk home in bare feet.

    Retreating were worst part of t'business
    'Cos' lads were starting to see red
    And they hissed and booed when he walked up in front
    And chucked snowballs at the back of his head.

    Now Boney were right pigged off wi all this
    So that night he worked out a plan
    He pawned all the lads muskets as they lay there in t' kip
    And he came home on t' number 11 tram.

    It was dark when he got back to their street
    And stars where twinecklin above
    And Boney's passions rose and bursted all his buttons
    As he thought of Joseffluent, his love.

    He stomped the snow off his boots,
    Opened the door and stuck his rifle in 't plant pot in t' hall
    He said 'I'm home sweetie pie, light of mi life'
    Josephine shouted- *##**# (rude things).

    'Don't think you can go out bloody conquering' she said
    'Stopping out all night wit' bloody lads,
    'You're the worst bloody stop-out in Irlam you.'
    Boney said, 'There's no answer to that!'

    'You've not finished papering the lobby yet
    This house is a right bloody mess,
    'And you just sit there chewin at your nails
    'And sticking your hand up your vest.

    Well she ran down stairs and smashed im in t' gob
    And when he tried get into bed
    She got right nasty and picked up the po
    And emptied it over his head.

    So you see what they say in the hysterical books
    Isn't always quite right
    It was Boney who got deaf and dumb breakfast
    And Josephluent who said 'Not tonight!'

    For she made him sleep downstairs on the hearthrug
    Tossin and turning without rest
    Kicking the cat and chewing his nails
    And sticking his hand up his vest.
    That is great!! Lol. Is that one of Mike Hardings?

    VodaHost

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    Comment

    • royb
      Major General

      • Mar 2006
      • 2483

      #3
      Re: Continuing the Lancashire tradition

      Yep it is Mike Harding.


      http://www.plusplace.co.uk
      royb@plusplace.co.uk

      Comment

      • nick1346
        Major

        • Jan 2006
        • 314

        #4
        Re: Continuing the Lancashire tradition

        Haha, like that!

        Comment

        • nick1346
          Major

          • Jan 2006
          • 314

          #5
          Re: Continuing the Lancashire tradition

          Hey I've just been promoted. Pull yer shaggin feet in!

          Comment

          • Girlonthehill
            General

            • Oct 2005
            • 4193

            #6
            Re: Continuing the Lancashire tradition

            Originally posted by royb
            Yep it is Mike Harding.
            'Ah think it werra shame when 'ee stopped doing't funny stuff.' Lol.

            VodaHost

            Your Website People!
            1-302-283-3777 North America / International
            02036089024 / United Kingdom
            291916438 / Australia

            ------------------------

            Top 3 Best Sellers

            Web Hosting - Unlimited disk space & bandwidth.

            Reseller Hosting - Start your own web hosting business.

            Search Engine & Directory Submission - 300 directories + (Google,Yahoo,Bing)


            Comment

            • retlaw
              Private First Class

              • Apr 2008
              • 8

              #7
              Re: Continuing the Lancashire tradition

              Gud un, aive ritten one or too misen.
              Thurs nowt like a bit o Lanky dialect.

              Thony thing all them furiners carned mek us
              aeut, they think wur talkin Klingon ur somat.

              Walter.

              Comment

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