Greased Lightnin'

Mary and Albert were lovers
No long steamy nights full of passion
But the tender and carin' long-lastin' kind
Since holdin' 'ands were the fashion

Albert were a gardener an' a good 'un an' all
His leeks were the talk o' the town
Tall brassicas sweet firm and juicy
An' swedes that were big 'ard and round

It were six weeks last Sunday gone
While t' beef were in, roastin' for t' dinner
Mary said 'Bert go get a cabbage from t' garden'
'Bert said 'aye lass I'll bring thee a winner !'

He were stood bendin' forward wi' t' knife held aloft
just about to cut off the roots
When a bolt o' greased lightnin' hit 'im right out o' blue
All that were left were some smoke an' 'is boots

'Well what did you do Mary'?  her friends all enquired
She answered this question with ease
'Well there bein' no cabbage for t' dinner
I just opened a tin o' green-peas

Well they buried 'Bert two weeks last Wednesday
And t' wind it were 'owlin' a gale
That night it blew down th' headstone
But that's not the end of the tale

Young 'Arry the cemetery attendant
Saw the 'eadstone flat down in the mire
So 'e lifted it back on its footings again
And tied it fast to a tree with some wire

Now Mary, on her weekly visit to t' grave
Saw t' wire an' couldn't hold back a grin
She remarked as ow 'Bert must be doin' alright
Why he's just 'ad t' telephone put in !!