The very last Friday that ever ther' wur
A trap with a chap in drove up to eaur dur;
It wur loaded wi' loaves till no more it cud tak',
Un th' chap on the box wur a brave Steeple Jack.
We goo deawn a pit un he goes up a spire,
Both hazardous jobs as a man can desire;
We're ever in danger until we get back,
Un so is the chap ut they co' Steeple Jack.
Aw think that accounts for his comin' so soon
Wi' a load o' loaves warm and noice from the oo'n,
He cudno' aboide that poor colliers lack,
So deawn wi' his loaves coom this brave Steeple Jack.
Un ther' wur some jeigh when we seed what he had,
For th' childer wer scroikin' a butter cake dad,
Un some o' those loaves disappeared in a crack.
While blessin's wur sheawered on eaur brave Steeple Jack.
Un that wur not o' for he browt picks un shoes,
That if the're a job we shud ha' tools to use;
So aw thowt to reward him this song aw wud mak'.
Un tell o' aw know of this brave Steeple Jack.

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