They say 'at its a waste o' brass—a nasty habit too,—
A thing 'at noa reight-minded chap wod ivver think to do;
Maybe they're reight;
They say it puts one's brains to sleep, an maks a felly daft,—
Aw've hearken'd to ther doctrins, then aw've lit mi pipe an laft,
At ther consait.
At morn when startin for mi wark, a bit o' bacca's sweet,
An aw raillee should'nt like to be withaat mi pipe at neet,
It comforts me.
An if awm worritted an vext, wi' bothers durin th' day,
Aw tak a wiff, an in a claad, aw puff 'em all away,
An off they flee.
They tell me its a poison, an its bad effects they show;
Aw nivver contradict 'em but aw think its varry slow,
An bad to tell;
They say it leeads to drinkin, an drink leeads to summat war;
But aw know some at nivver smook 'at's getten wrang as far
As me misel.
They say its an example 'at we did'nt owt to set,—
For owt 'at's nowt young fowk sooin leearn, but dooant soa sooin forget,
That's varry true.
But aw shall be contented, if when comes mi time to dee,
To smook a pipe o' bacca is th' warst thing they've lent throo me:
Aw'st manage throo,
They say it maks one lazy, an time slips by unawares,—
It may be soa, an if it is, that's noa consarn o' theirs;
Aw work mi share.
If it prevents fowk meddlin wi' th' affairs ov other men,
'Twod happen be as weel, aw think, if they'd to smook thersen;—
They've time to spare.
But what they say ne'er matters, for aw act upon a plan,
If th' world affooards a pleasure awll enjoy it if aw can,
At morn or neet;
They may praich agean mi bacca, an may looad it wi' abuse,
But aw think its a gooid crayter if its put to a gooid use.
Pass me a leet.