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Cushie Butterfield Lyrics
Aa's a broken hairted keel man and Aa's ower heed in luv
Wiv a young lass in Gyetsid an Aa caal hor me duv
Hor nyem's Cushie Butterfield and she sells Yalla clay
And her cousin is a muckman and they caall µim Tom Gray.
Chorus- She's a big lass an' a bonnie lass an' she likes hor beer
An they caall hor Cushie Butterfield an' aa wish she war heor
Her eyes are like two holes in a blanket bornt throo,
An' her brows in a mornin wad spyen a young coo;
An' when aw heer her shootin "will ye buy ony clay,"
Like a candy man's trumpet, it steels ma young hart away.
Ye'll oft see hor doon at Sangit when the fresh harrin cims in,
She's like a bagfull o'saadust tied roond wiv a string;
She weers big galoshes tee, an' hor stockins once was white,
An' hor bedgoon it's laelock, but hor hat's nivver strite.
Chorus
Whan Aa axed hor te marry us, she started te laff;
"Noo, nyen o'yor munkey tricks, for Aa like nee such chaff"
Then she started a' blubblin' an' roared like a bull,
An' the cheps on the Keel ses As's nowt but a fyeul.
Chorus
She sez "The chep that gets me'll heh to work ivry day,
An when he cums hyem at neets he¦ll heh te gan an' seek clay;
An' when he's away seekin't aal myek balls an' sing'
Weel may the keel row that my laddies in !"
Chorus
Noo, aw heer she hes anuther chep, an' he hews at Shipcote'
If aw thowt she wad deceive me, ah'd sure cut me throat;
Aal doon the river sailin, an¦sing "Aam afloat,"
Biddin addo te Cushy Butterfield an¦ the chep at Shipcote.
Wiv a young lass in Gyetsid an Aa caal hor me duv
Hor nyem's Cushie Butterfield and she sells Yalla clay
And her cousin is a muckman and they caall µim Tom Gray.
An they caall hor Cushie Butterfield an' aa wish she war heor
An' her brows in a mornin wad spyen a young coo;
An' when aw heer her shootin "will ye buy ony clay,"
Like a candy man's trumpet, it steels ma young hart away.
She's like a bagfull o'saadust tied roond wiv a string;
She weers big galoshes tee, an' hor stockins once was white,
An' hor bedgoon it's laelock, but hor hat's nivver strite.
"Noo, nyen o'yor munkey tricks, for Aa like nee such chaff"
Then she started a' blubblin' an' roared like a bull,
An' the cheps on the Keel ses As's nowt but a fyeul.
An when he cums hyem at neets he¦ll heh te gan an' seek clay;
An' when he's away seekin't aal myek balls an' sing'
Weel may the keel row that my laddies in !"
If aw thowt she wad deceive me, ah'd sure cut me throat;
Aal doon the river sailin, an¦sing "Aam afloat,"
Biddin addo te Cushy Butterfield an¦ the chep at Shipcote.
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Geordie is not a regional accent. It is a language that owes a lot to Scandinavian tongues, for the Geordies and the Vikings had much in common. They both liked to chat up each others women folk and burn down monasteries. In fact the Vikings made monastery burning a national sport for the time.
A translation ... I'm a broken-hearted keelman and I'm over head in love With a young lass from Gyetsid And I call her my dove
Her name's Cushie Butterfield And she sells yellow clay And her cousin’s a muckman And they call him Tom Gray
Chorus She's a big lass She's a bonny lass And she likes her beer And I call her Cushie Butterfield And I wish she was here
Her eyes is like two holes In a blanket burnt through And her breath in the morning Would scare a young coo And when I hear her shouting Will you buy any clay Like a candyman’s trumpet She steals my heart away
[CANDYMAN. A bum bailiff. The man who serves notice of ejectment. The word is almost always used as a term of abuse or contempt. The reason for this is the way these men were regularly used during mining strikes. Pitmen lived in "tied" houses and if they went on strike the coal owners usually evicted them. To do so many bailiffs were needed. They were recruited from the scum of the towns and many street vendors were among those so employed. Some of the street traders sold sticks of candy, their street cry being Dandy-candy, three sticks a penny. So all bum bailiffs were contemptuously described as candymen.]
You’ll often see her down at Sangit When the fresh herring comes in She’s like a bag full of sawdust Tied round with a string She wears big galoshes too And her stockings once was white And her bed gown it's lilac But her hat's never straight Chorus When I asked her to marry us She started to laugh No, none of your monkey tricks For I like no such chaff Then she started a’blubbering And roared like a bull And the chaps on the keel Says I’m nothing but a fool Chorus She says “the chap that gets me here to work every day. And when he comes home at night He’ll here to go and seek clay And when he’s away seeking all my balls and things Well may the keel row that my laddie’s in Chorus Now I hear she has another chap And he hails at Shipcote If I thought she would deceive me I’d sure cut my throat All down the river sailing, and singing “I’m afloat” Bidding adieu to Cushy Butterfield and the chap at Shipcote.
This is from For Our Children, an album recorded to benefit the Pediatric AIDS Foundation, released in 1998
Cushie Butterfield is another of Tyneside's great folk songs. Some might think of an old TV ad for Newcastle Brown Ale when they hear this song.
The Newcastle Brown Ale version
If yee like a beer that's porfection indeed, I'll bring yee a toast, to fulfill yer need. At hyem by yer fireside, in club or in bar, The sign of good taste is the famous Blue Star.
It's a strong beer, it's a bottled beer, with the North's biggest sale, for complete satisfaction, Newcastle Brown Ale.
(Then in a very deep voice, repeat...)
Noooooooocastle Brown Ale.