Frae Team gut to Whitley wi'coals black an'broon,
For the Amphitrite loaded, the keel had come doon:
But the bullies, ower neet had their thropples see wet,
That the nyem o' the ship yen an'a' did forget.
To find ooot the nyem, noo, each worried his chops,
An' claw'd at his hips fit to murder the lops--
Then the Skipper, went hunger'd was a'ways myest bright,
Swore the pawhogger luggish was ca'd Empty Kite.
Frae the Point, roond the Girt, a' the time sailin'slow,
Each bully kept bawlin', "The Empty Kite, ho!"
But their blairin'was vain, for nee Empty Kite there,
Tho' they blair'd till their kites were byeth empty an' sair.
A' Slaverin the Skipper ca'd Geordy an' Jim,
For to gan to Newcassel and ax the reet nyem;
The youngest he thowt myest, to blame i' this bore,
Sae Pee-Dee an' his marrow was seun pack'd ashore.
Up the Shields Road they trodg'd i' their myest worn-oot soles,
Oft cursin' the Empty Kite, Skipper, and coals;
At the sign of "The Coach" they byeth ca'd it befell,
To mourn their hard case owre a tankard o' yell.
Here a Buck at a sirloin hardeatin' was seen,
An' he said 'at the air'd myed his appetite keen;
"Appetite!" cried the bullies--like maislins they stared,
Wide gyepin'wi' wonder, till "Crikes!" Jemmy blair'd.
"The Appetite, Geordy! smash! dis tu hear that?
It's the varry ootlandish, cull nyem we forgat;
Bliss the dandy! for had he not tell't us the nyem,
To Newcassel we'd wander'd byeth weary and lyem!"
To Shields back they canter'd an' seun, frae the keel,
Roar'd--"The Appetite, ho!" 'neuf to frighten the De'il,
Thus they fund oot the ship, cast the coals in a sweat,
Still praisin' the Dandy they'd luckily met.
Then into the huddock, weel tir'd they a' gat,
An' of Empty Kite, Appetite, lang did they chat,
When the Skipper fund oot--(wise as Solomon, King)--
Tho' not the syem word--'twas aboot the syem thing.
<tune posted 3/3/00>