For Riffat.
Now a spud on his shoulder
And a spud in the field.
There's ever a man who ever did weald.
He loved a girl and married her right.
He was the guy she held tight.
He took no time for wining and dining.
He went bent low to lift her right up.
She did blow to hit his head for it was low and shiney
and she was learning to write instead.
So there they stood when at last
don't we know a dust of glow from above to below like confetti would you know.
So they stand in sted and sail
To hear the bells doing ting a ling ling.
And at lasty blast all the bells in Shropshire sing.
Bucket and bales
At last become Queen and King.
