(In memory of John Heyes)

Nay, mony a neet er dad tow'd us th'owd tale

Abate Heneghans donkey an' pint o' mild ale

So if the' as a mind fert 'ear wot ah say

Ah'll noan keep thi lung, then ah'll goo on mi way.

 

Nay it seems that t'Heneghans were reet gradely folk

An ter keep childer 'appy they bowt um a moke

An sich fun thi 'ad on it ridin' dane pad

Ah tell thi, thi thowt it best gift that thi'd ad.

 

But in a laht years it seemed ter bi sick

An dad were ca'din, fer ee knew mony a trick,

But donkey were reet poorly, so dad sed forlorn

If we don't do owt soon, it'll noan last till morn.

 

Then missus said "Jim. Wilt goo dane ter t'ship

Fer a pint o' mild ale, and mind it's a quick trip,

Weel warm it I' pon, fer that met succeed"

But when ee geet back, ee font donkey 'ad deed.

 

So dad t'were gravedigger, ah tell thi no joke

If tha thinks ay deep t'hole fer bury a moke,

Ee sweated an' toiled, an' wen all were secure

Ee supped t'pint o' flat rib that ad bin t'donkey's cure.