This world is net a paradise,
Tho' railly aw dooant see,
What fowk should growl soa mich abaat;—
Its gooid enuff for me.
It's th' only world aw've ivver known,
An them 'at grummel soa,
An praich abaat a better land,
Seem varry looath to goa.
Ther's some things 'at awm apt to think,
If aw'd been th' engineer,
Aw might ha changed,—but its noa use,—
Aw connot interfere.
We're foorced to tak it as it is;
What faults we think we see;
It mayn't be what it owt to be,—
But its gooid enuff for me.
Then if we connot alter things,
Its folly to complain;
To hunt for faults an failins,
Allus gooas agean my grain.
When ther's soa monny pleasant things,
Why should we hunt for pain,
If troubles come, we needn't freeat,
For sunshine follows rain.
If th' world gooas cruckt,—what's that to us?
We connot mak it straight;
But aw've come to this conclusion,
'At its th' fowk 'at isn't reight.
If ivverybody 'ud try to do
Ther best wi' th' means they had,
Aw think 'at they'd agree wi' me,—
This world is nooan soa bad.