Best O't' Bunch

This world’s just like a ranty-powl,
It’s nowt but «ups» an' «deawns»,
Aw’ve feawnd it’s mostly «deawn» misel'.
Aw’m used tu fortune’s freawns.
Eawr folk were ow tarred wi' t' same brush,
They were oather bad or wicked,
Aw were th' only one ‘at were onny good,
Folk reckoned when they bickered.
Mi grondad stood on t' market place,
Sellin' pigeons, fine an' sleek,
When let loose they’d goo flyin' whom,
An' he’d sell ‘em agen t' next week.
Mi Uncle Sam played a big bassoon,
But it didn’t suit Aunt Jane,
So hoo clouted him o’er t' yed wi' it.
An' he geet «music on th' brain».
Mi mother had a rare complaint,
We co’d it «beg an' borrow»,
Fro' next dur, hoo’d cadge t' Sunday joint,
Sayin' «Aw'll fotch it back tomorrow».
Uncle Eli were a card-sharper,
Cards up his sleeve, he hood,
One neet they copped him at his tricks,
So they «trumped his ace» for good.
Eawr Billy were as cute an' fause,
As a barrow-full o' apes,
He’d shave th' whiskers off «goose-gobs»,
Then sell ‘em yo' as grapes.
Hard wark didn’t seem tu suit him,
He said it made him thin,
First day he warked, he’d an accident,
He sprained his wrist wi' «clockin' in».
Aw could keep yo' up till t' keaws coom whom,
Tellin' o' mi family woes,
But that wouldn’t auter things, aw guess,
For they were ow as black as crows.
They ow went «down-hill», as yo’ve yerd,
They mun ha' been «ill-bred»,
Aw’m th' only one ‘at were onny good,
At least that’s what folk said.
Though they reckoned mi th' best o' t' bunch,
Aw didn’t tak heed o' t' warnin',
That’s why Aw’m sittin' in this cell,
For they’re hangin' ME in t' mornin'.