Cushie Butterfieldwords: George Ridley; tune: Harry Clifton About
I'm a broken-hearted keelman head ower heels in love
With a young lass in Gateshead and I calls her mi' dove.
Her name is Cushie Butterfield and she sells yeller clay,
And her cousin is a muck man and they call him Tom Grey.
She's a big lass and a bonny lass and she likes her beer,
And they calls her Cushie Butterfield and I wish she was here.
I love her to distraction and I canna say how,
Cause her breath in the morning would stem a young cow.
But when I hear her calling "Will ye have any clay?"
Like a candy man's trumpet, it steals mi heart away.
You'll see her down in Sandgate when the fresh herring comes in,
She's like a bagful of sawdust tied up with a string;
She wears big galoshes and her stocking once was white,
And her bed gown is lilac and her hat's never straight.
I asked her to marry me and she started to laugh
"Let's have less of your monkey tricks for I like nae such chaff."
Then she started to blubber and she roared like a bull,
And the chaps on the keel say I'm nowt but a fool.
She says the lad that weds her must work every day
And when he comes yam at nights gan out and seek clay,
And when he's out seeking it she'll stay yam and sing
"Oh well may the keel row that my laddie's in."