The Twenty-First of Liverpool

It's the twenty-first of Liverpool, the city of July,
The snow was cover'd wi' the ground as sure as any lie;
I stepped aboard of a tramway car for to blow the raging sea,
I asked the governor punch my ticket, he said he would punch my e'e.

I fell in love wi' an English girl who could sing a Gaelic dance,
She was born i Tipperary, a few miles out o' france
She's a weaver in the gasworks, a stone-breaker to her trade
But now she's got a constant job, got a-cooking of Eastern shed.

My father was a dairy maid up on a Sunday's boat,
He split his fingers breaking sticks for Barney Hooligan's goat;
The goat took sick that very night and died three weeks before,
But that's all my friends, I'll have to go, for I don't know anymore.

note: A traditional playground song from Stirling, collected from
James Thompson 1961.
From SOunds Like Folk, EFDS Publications Ltd.
RG
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