letra de the lancashire miller - the oldham tinkers
jeremy gigg, a miller was he
in lancashire born and bred;
the mill was all he depended on
to earn him his daily bread
owd jeremy he was growing owd
his latter end were near;
he had three sons, it troubled him sore
which of ‘em should be his heir
he call’d to him his eldest son
“an answer give to me:
what way’d tha tek thy bread to mak’
if mi mill were given to thee?”
“oh if the mill were mine,” said he
“i’ll plainly tell to yeaw
out of every seck i’d tak’ a peck
as yeaw’ve been used to do.”
he call’d to him his second son
“an answer give to me:
what way’d tha tek thy bread to mak’
if mi mill were given to thee?”
“oh, if the mill were mine,” said he
“as sure as my name’s rafe
instead of a peck out of every seck
i’m sure i’d tak an-hawf.”
he call’d to him his youngest son
his youngest lad were will
“on th’answer theaw does give to me
depends who gets the mill.”
“oh, if the mill were mine,” said he
“a living i would mek;
instead o’ an-hawf i’d tek all lot
and cheat ‘em out o’ t’sack.”
owd jeremy he sat up in bed
to hear him talk so smart;
said, “well done, will! tha’s won mi mill;
that lad after my own ‘art!”
and t’other two look’d rather blue
an’ swore it wur too bad;
but l!ckle will, he won the mill
and the devil he got his dad
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