I've seed a braave bit in my day,
I've heer'd a braave bit too,
Now all tha things I've seed and heer'd
Wud vull a big book droo.

My faathers naame was Jan Poldu,
My Moathers naame wus Ann,
She used ta clain my boots weth fat
From out tha fryin pan.

I used ta knaw wan Jim Trenouth,
And used ta eer un sing,
And when ee draw'd abread he mouth,
Wud maake tha plaace feer ring.

Hes faather and hes moather too
Ad music on tha brain,
They sing'd and play'd their all life droo,
And knaw'd no aache nor pain.

So when tha enfant Jim was born,
And ee droo life ded staart,
Avore ee gat ta man's estaaate,
Cud sing moast any paart.

If you cud see tha insturments
That Jimmie used ta play,
Law massey and bless me sawl,
I doant knaw wot you'ud say.

Tin whistles, Jews Haarps, mandolines,
And organs play'd be mouth,
Wus grand ta eer aw iss me dear,
When play'd be Jim Trenouth.

When tay drenks com'd around aich 'eer,
He used ta sing or play,
Ta give tha people appitite
Ta ait and drenk their tay.

Wan 'eer when Jim ad finished you,
Hes singin for tha day,
Et set down ta tha taable too,
Ta av a cup ov tay.

Tha taable ee wus groanin moast
Weth yellaw caake and white,
And Jim did ait so much ov boath
Hes waist coaat got some tight.

Now Jimmie ee ait on and on
So long as ee wus aable,
And then ee went ta ava a look
At tother end ov taable.

Ee inchied up tha sait my dear
Ta av a good look round,
When there avore hes eyes ee seed
A caake some grand and brown.

A piece ov that wan ee must av,
And non wud say ee shudden,
Then to tha woman Jim sing'd out
"A piece ov figgy pudden."

"A piece ov figgy pudden plaise,"
Jim sing'd out waance again,
Law massey poar old Jim ded av
Fig pudden on tha brain.

Tha woman axed un waance or twice
To maake sure wot ee said,
And when at last she understood
Et masde er shaake er haid.

"Now figgy pudden we ant got,
But ait wot else you plaise."
Jim pointed ta tha caake and said
"Law massey me there tais."

It wus sultanas in tha caake
That fool'd poar Jim Trenouth,
Ee thought 'twas figgy pudden, and
Wanted som in hes mouth.

Now as they'm atched so they be matched
I've heer'd moast people say,
It must be true cos Jim Trenouth
Ded marry Ann Polgay.

Tha way she went about er work
To me wus naas hun queer,
She allus used ta put tha caart
Avore tha oss my dear.

Now Mondays, stead ov waashin cloas
She'ud clain up round taa owse,
And Jim wud set down en hes chair
So quiet as a mowse.

Then Tuesdays stead ov baakin mait
She'ud waash up all er cloas,
So poar old Jim ded av no mait
But went wethout I spoas.

And Wednesdays wus er sewin day,
She allus maade er braggs,
That she could maake a bran new suite
Out ov a pile ov rags.

But aw my dear, Jim's trowsers wus
Wan awn awful sight ta see,
They wore wan mortal mass ov rags
From elbaw ta tha knee.

Tha patches on hes trowsers spoas,
No pathwork quelt cud wack,
When they was tared in front my dear
Ee wear'd em voorside back.

I doant knaw ow ee took em off
Nor ow ee put em on,
It must av took un a braave while
Ta do et any wan.

Now ta be fair ta boath ov em,
I now must lay avore ee
Wot es ta me tha best paart ov
This little Cornish story.