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
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