On Bynar Day
On bynar day,
A dumplin grey,
Come singing down the drove.
A merry tee,
Along a thee,
Tar mucky borogrove.
A dumplin grey,
He merry way,
A singing as he strode.
His song he sing,
A jolly ting,
Off home up he abode.
Large peeble be,
With eye they see,
Said dumplin marching on.
Off he go by,
They know not why,
Nor wonder where he gone.
Tread on he trod,
The daft ol' sod,
A tune upside his head.
This be all wrong,
He sing no song,
Cuz really he be dead.
And that's all there is to it.
Copyright © Simon Cartlidge | Year Posted 2005
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