Mi f'st pooem! by Janice Witton
Na bugger me, will tha luk at tha'
Mi f'st poem, do a ger'a pat on t'back
A wa' oni rantin' like tha dus
Just putin daan wot cum in mi ed
An i pu'rit on mi journal fo'ra bira' o' laugh
A recon'd it wa fitin' me being a Yorkshire lass
Then a fun this place fa' Yorkshire folk
It wa' full a' verse in slang
So i sent mi pooem off to em
I wa wundrin' what they thought
Then a geets this mail on t'puter
Thi' must a' reckoned it wa reet smart
Coz naa it's gorit's oan page
Wi a bit abaat me reet at top
N' if a rant sum mooa the'll ad them an' all
So am reet chuffed a tell thi'
Seein' me pooem on t'web
Bur'a go'ra bi reet carefull
Wi dunt want all this fame goona' mi hed.
Na' then me owd mate! by Janice Witton
W'en tha needs a gud rooa....gis'a bell!...I dun't promise thar' a'll mek thi
laugh...
burr'a can rooa wi' thi,
N'if one day tha wants to bugga off... dun't bi free'tand to ring mi!...a' dun't
promise ta stop thi...
burr'a can bugga off wi'thi,
N'if one day tha dun't wan'a listen t'any bugga.....gis'a bell!...a' promise
a'll bi thea for thi...
an'a promise a'll keap me gob shut,
Burr'if tha calls...an' tha dun't gerr'an answer...leg it raand t'aah haas...
Coz a' might bi needin' thee.
The Yorkshire Way by Janice Witton
It's t'yorkshire way dunt tha no... Ta seh it as wi see it,
Wi seh us bit n' state t'facts...na bull shit will tha git,
Wi dunt gu raund t'haases...oh beat abaat t'bush,
Wi dunt 'av fancy accents... ta mek us all saand posh,
Wi'er daan t'earth friendly folk...na finer wi'ya find,
Ba'rif ya dare ta cross es....Wi'al gladly spick us minds,
So if tha wants it plainly sed...wi aat t'wind n' gas,
Drop on by n' gerrit raet...from this owd yorkshire lass!
W'en i wor'a kid! by Janice Witton
Wen i wor'a kid, fur'a birr'o a treat,
we'd gerr'a thrup'ny bit to gu to t'chippy,
Wen i wor'a kid wi wa kept in line,
or end up wi t'belt just fa' bein' lippy,
Wen i wor'a kid we played games or ad'n 'obby,
any bover meant a clip raand t'ear from t'local bobby,
Wen i wor'a kid oni t'eldest got new clooas n'a trip to taan,
the youngen's had to pur'up wi all owd hand-me-daans,
Wen i wor'a kid wi 'ad op'n fires tha' med t'house all sooty,
lasses played wi dolls while lads played wi trains or'ad a game of footy,
Wen i wor'a kid wi din't lock winda's and doa's, we din't even bolt t'gate,
bur'it wa safer, life wa easier then n' t'world wor'in a much berr'a state.
