Eaur Joe's Lad

Each time our Joe became a dad,
He’d act aw posh an' regal,
An' hopin' it would be a lad,
He’d book t’top room at th' Eagle.
But every time he geet let down,
As lass would follow lass,
His brow would wrinkle in a freawn,
An' he’d scarcely raise his glass.
T’relations didn’t mind one bit,
Twelve lovely do’s they’d had,
They’d say «Weel done Joe, this is it,
Ten bob says it’s a lad!»
An' then — when Joe were forty-eight,
A lad! Eawer Joe went daft,
T’top room at th’Eagle groaned wi' t’weight,
They supped, they skriked, they laughed.
«Who does he favver,» Joe asked one,
«Yore Jem, Yore Jack, or Grace?»
Joe grinned. «Ah've no idea owd son,
Ah’ve ne’er looked at his face!»