‘tis morning, ‘ere in Yorkshire, wench,
I say, there’s dew upon thee grass.
I best get out to yonder field,
or I’ll never earn me brass.
I’ve milk’thee cows, and sheared thee sheep,
as well as spread the muck.
so I think it’s time to bob t’pub,
to get this thirst unstuck.
Now I’m drunk, I say my wench,
I’ve had a dozen kegs,
so now it’s time for you to work,
lie down and spread thee legs!
