“Yo con stik yer O.T. Gaffa
Weer the monkey stiks his nuts.
Dost think I’ll fall fer that agin
No questions ifs or buts?
Fer fore ‘ears now I’ve werked me roe
Thru blood and sweat and tears
And all fer such a measly dough
Werk overtime no fears.”
The Gaffa looked me in the eye
And stood his graernd real firm.
“Wust be better on the dole
With missis on the gurm?”
Cust see he wart in mood fer messin,
He wus beetroot red in ferse.
An I war gunna mess abaert
So I gor on his curse.
“Yo con insult me till cows come um
But yoh wow insult mar *****.
Gaffa or no Gaffa mate
Yo’ll end up in six-foot trench!”
He must a thought it tad absurd,
It war achieving any gud.
So, he said, “Time an a third?”
To this I said I would.
He ay bad Gaffa after all
It jus needed consultation.
We both walked off I dun confess
With mutual admiration.
“Oh, wenst yo wont us in?”  I asked,
Cust I didna ear ya say.”
“I’m sorry I fergor ah kid,
Yome in on Christmas Day.”