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I come from Yorkshire, pal. Any Southerner knows that; They can tell by my accent And regulation flat ‘at. From my fellow Yorkies There’s no way of hiding I have that twang That says from the East Riding. Not from North York’s, Speech more Geordie like, Nor talk like the Wessies But still all fellow Tykes, All living here up North Enjoying the bounty Of the Texas of England God’s own Fair County. We don’t all keep whippets Or scrounge on the dole, Though they’ve nearly killed steel And wiped out King Coal; And we know our life is shorter Than those living down south And it’s not Estuary English That pours from each mouth. And we don’t pull the forelock To our so called betters Nor write worried of Cheltenham Whinging complaining letters; We just carry on surviving In spite of all that’s gone And pity those south of Sheffield, At t'other end of the M1.
For what its Worth Its just by An accident of birth But I come from Yorhshire mate And I’ll say it out loud I come from Yorkshire mate And it makes me right proud. Vote for this poem
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