t was Saturday night in the barroom and the usual crowd was there
The bloke who cheats at the dominoes and the landlord with re-moveable hair
Then out of a night so snowy - stepped a tramp – humbly within
His face was lined with rough living and his whiskers were soaked with rough gin
He ordered a half of strong bitter as he gazed at the joy all around
Then he made a wide arc with his left arm and it was then that he uttered this sound
He said, “Give me order I beg you - and I’ll tell you a bit of a tale
It’ll only take a few minutes - and I promise your beer won’t go stale.”
“Get out!” said the hard-faced bartender - we won’t have no stories in here
We don’t make no profit from stories -and it’s hard enough selling this beer”
“You heard the bartender,” said a tallish young man, “Get lost you smelly old coot
You’ve turned my beer flat you barmy old bat I’ve a good mind to give my boot”
“What’s the trouble?” said the pub’s drunken manager - in his lips was a strong cigarette
It’ll be one of them longhaired guitarist from the Salvation Army I expect”
“No it’s not!” said a white-haired old lady, “It’s just an old man with a tale”.
“Then send him back to the dogs’ home,” quipped the barmaid pulling the ale.
Then Joe who was playing the piano for just £1.50 a night
Thought to placate the whole company with a tune that was merry and light
“Stop that playing!” screamed Big Geordie - who was standing there bad with the beer
And he gave him a swipe to ease his own gripe and he ended a brilliant career.
Then Sticky MacFadgen – for that was his name -went berserk when he saw cousin Joe
And though six stone wet through he grabbed bottles two - and swore that he’s soon have a go
But nine bottles of ” broon” had ruined his aim and he missed drunken Geordie by yards
All that he did was to cripple poor Sid who was just sitting there playing cards.
Then Sid’s wife made a grab for her handbag and from it she drew forth a knife
She made a quick stab at MacFadgen and she ruined the poor man’s sex life
This caused a row and a ruction for MacFadgen was a popular lad
And besides that he played for the darts team and he was the best bloody player they had.
The battle commenced then in earnest - each one took sides in the fight
Except for the manager’s pet budgie who bombed everybody in sight!
Then in rushed a bus trip from Sunderland - they were bound for the French Eiffel Tower
They were weary of travel and gagging for drink ‘cos they’d been on the bus for an hour
At the head of the crew was a lady called Lou who was renowned for her skill with a whip
From 25 yards she could cut decks of cards and have a pretty good try at your zip
In the hullabaloo this ungallant crew to a person were heard to relate
“Bye! This is the way to spend Saturday night - culture and Paris can wait!”
The wounded lay moaning and groaning - some asked to be given the last rites
Even the poor budgie was wounded struck by a dart in mid-flight.
One man alone was left standing - it was the tramp with the gin soaked old face
Who finished his drink at the double and went in search of a quieter place!
