A PARODY ON BILLY OLIVER'S RAMBLE.

My nyem is Willy Dixon, A Coachmaker to my trade; And when aw see a Pitman come, Aw run—because aw's flaid. Sic an a cliver chep am aw, am aw, am aw. Sic an a cliver chep am aw. On Pay-day neets aw gan to the Cock, When the Pitmen's aw gyen hyem, Then aw begins to rair and sing, And myek o' them a gyem. Sic an a cliver chep am aw. Ou Sunday mornings, then, you see, Aw dress mesel se fine; And wi' me white drill pantaloons, Aw cuts a fearful shine. Sic an a cliver chep am aw. Then what a swagger aw dis cut, As aw gan alang the street, But aw's myed se like nut-crackers, That maw nose and chin they meet. Sic an a cliver chep am aw. Then when aw gans to see the lass, It's in the afternoon; An' then we gans a wauking, Wi' her fine lustre goon. Sic an a cliver chep am aw. And as we gan through Jesmond fields, The lasses gyep and luick, And efter we get past them a', They cry, 'Ah! what a buck!' Sic an a cliver chep am aw. Then efter wandering up and down, At neet we toddle hyem; And aw gies her a kiss, you see, And she cries, 'Fie for shem!' Sic an a cliver chep am aw. Then aw seeks out my au'd wark claes, Gets on another sark; And on Monday morn, at six o'clock, Gans whisslin off to wark. Sic an a cliver chep am aw.