Our ma`s gorra new fella
Arthur ,a big brass band fan
He`s had six wives int past
And a Jeremy Kyle show int can
She thinks he`s a bedwetter
We all think he`s a pain
he`s puffin on that naffin tuba
Come hail,shine or rain
He thinks he`s a future with our ageing ma
We dont think so cos he`s to fond of a jar
No man`ll ger is feet under er table ever again
She`s done it all, to much of a pain
She`s norra go out our ma
She sits and chews wrigleys
and watches Columbo till its dark
Though she will venture out now an then
For a short stroll rount local park
Brass band nights is norr our ma`s cup of tea
So Arthur wer`e sure will be gone soon ,we`ll see
He`s writin letters and sends flowers every day
Sayin ,dont dump me Betty
I want to be here to stay
On yer bike boy she shouted througt letterbox one day
I`m tellin you now Arthur your not here to stay
You`ve peed in my bed
Now on your way boy, Ive gorra shockin head
Copyright James Byrne
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