Chorus:
Well he’s brown ale crazy - he’s brown ale mad
And they say the brown ale robbed him of the little bit of sense he had
It takes a dozen bottles - his thirst to satisfy
And all he needs is half a chance he’ll drink the brewery dry
Now you must ken my mate Geordie - he’s from Newcastle town
He’s a helluva man for drinkin’ - and he ‘specially like the brown
He drinks it by the gallon - he drinkls it by the gill
Nee matter how much brown he drinks - he never gets his fill
He’s a quiet man when sober - and he’s only five foot nowt
But mind when he has had a few - he puts himself about
He thinks he’s like Jack Dempsey - Muhammad Ali too
He’s take on half a public bar - and twenty boys in blue
Now the angels called on Geordie - said, “It’s time you cam up here”
But Geordie says, “Why had a mow Ah haven’t drunk me beer”
Now when at last he got up there St. Peter at the gate
Say, “Geordie lad yer welcome here - but leave that bloody crate!”
