The Waggoner

Saw ye owt o’ ma’ lad,
Gang down the waggon way?
His pocket full of money,
And his poke full of hay.

Aye but he’s a bonny lad,
As ever ye did see;
Tho’ he’s sair pock brocken,
And he’s blind of an e’e.

There’s ne’er a lad like ma’ lad,
Drives to a staith on Tyne;
Tho’ coal-black on work days,
On holidays he’s fine.

Ma’ lad’s a bonny lad,
The bonniest I see;
Wiv his fine posey waistcoat,
And buckles at his knee.