TOM CARR AND WALLER WATSON;
Reading edition
Or, Tom and Jerry at Home.
Tune—"There was a bold Dragoon."
O Marrow, howay to the toon, What fun we will ha'e there! We needn't fear the watchmen now, Let them come if they dare! We'll hev a gill and sing a sang, And through the streets we'll roar a ditty, For Tom Carr hez ne bizness now To put us a' neet i' the Kitty. Whack, fal, &c. For when he cam before me Lord, He fand his sel a' wrang, For tyaken Watson up yen neet For singing a wee bit sang. Another chep ca'd Walton te, Aw own that he was rather murry, For he tell'd the watchman to be off, Or else he'd give him Tom and Jurry, Whack, fal, &c. The watchman seiz'd him by the neck, Then up cam other two: Says Walton. 'Now let go o' me, Or aw'll let ye knaw just now.' Then he lifted up his great lang airm, Me soul he gave him sec a knoller; But the watchman kept his haud se lang, He pull'd off Walton's dandy collar. Whack, fal, &c. To the watch-house then they dragg'd them off, Before greet Captain Carr: Says he, 'What ha'e ye getten here, Me worthy men o' war?' Wye, sir, says they, here's twe greet cheps, The yen aw shure deserves a swingin; For they've roar'd and shouted thro' the streets, And wyaken'd a' the folks wi' singin. Whack, fal, &c. 'Aye, aye,' says Carr, 'aw ken them weel, Tyek them out o' my seet! Away wi' them to Mr. Scott, And keep them there a' neet.' Says Walton, 'Will ye hear me speak?' Says Tommy, 'Go you to the devil!' 'Wye, wye,' says Walton, 'never mind, But surely this is damn'd uncivil.' Whack, fal, &c. Then away they went to Mr. Scott, And fand him varry kind: Says he, 'Young men, I'll treat ye weel, Tho' here against your mind.' 'O Sir,' said they, 'you're very good, But faith this place luiks dark and frightful!' Says Walton, 'What a sweet perfume!' Says Watson, 'Lord, it's quite delightful!' Whack, fal, &c. But Watson myed Tom Carr to rue, Before 'twas varry lang: He had him tried before me Lord, And Carr fand he was wrang. Me Lord tell'd Carr he had ne reet To shop them, e'en had it been lyater, Until he'd tyen them, first ov a', Before a Mister Magistrater. Whack, fal, &c. Now Tommy Carr may claw his lug, Th' expences he mun pay: But still there's nyen that's sorry for't; 'It sarves him reet,' they say. So howay, lads, let's off to toon, We'll a' put wor bit better hats on; And if Tom Carr shops us agyen, Me sowl! we'll give him Waller Watson.