"Gorton Town" Song

"GORTON TOWN" SONG

Gosh, dang it, lads, we’re coming again,
Though many a mile I’ve been;
A Gorton lad i’m born and bred,
And lots of sights I’ve seen.

But when I did come back again,
I nearly fell in fits,
For times and folks so alter’d look’d,
I thought I’d lost me wits.

I turn’d me north, I turnd me south,
I turn’d me east and west,
And every thing so alter'd look’d,
And some were none for th’ best.

They’m even alter’d Goose Green pump,
They’m turn’d it upside down,
And th’ well they’m choked with pavingstones,
Since I left Gorton town.

When I left home some years ago,
Th’ old folks had lots of trade;
Some right good jobs came tumbling in,
And every one well paid.

We’d good roast beef and pudding,
And ale some decent swigs;
Egad! they liv’d like fighting-cocks,
And got as fat as pigs.

But now, egad! there’s none such things;
Poor folk have empty tripes;
There’s no roast beef to stuff their hides,
Its Poor Law soup and swipes.

An honest working man’s no chance;
Grim want does on him frown;
I ne'er thought things would come to this,
When I left Gorton town.

In days gone by our fine young men
Ne'er told such dismal tales;
They'd ne'er a man transplanted then
As far as New South Wales.

We’d honest men in Parliament
Both Tories, Rads and Whigs;
They were never known poor folk to rob,
But now they’re turned to prigs.

Our manufac’rers worked full time,
Their mills were seldom stopt;
No general turn-outs were there then,
Their wages never dropt.

These Corn-law folks and Chartist lads,
Might talk till all were brown,
Without being sent to treading-mills
When I left Gorton town.

In days gone by I never thought
Such days could come as these,
When lads were all as gay as larks,
And wenches bright as bees.

Right merrily they jogg’d to th’ fairs
In clogs and light shalloon,
And every one could sport a face
Just like a harvest moon.

But now the clogs and light shalloons,
Each one has thrown aside,
And lasses now are faded moons;
They’re grown too proud to stride.

The foolish frumps sport mutton pumps,
And yet, their pride to crown,
They’ve hustles tied behind ‘em
Half as large as Gorton town.

But dang it, lads; aw’st ne’er forget,
When first I came i’ th’ town,
A pretty wench came up to me,
And says, "Where art thou bound?"

But putting all these jokes aside,
We hope these times will mend;
There’ll come a day yet when the rich
Will prove the poor man’s friend.

When work and honest poverty
Will meet with due regard;
And plotting knaves and creeping slaves
Will get their just reward.

It’s soon or late, as sure as fate,
Such things will come to pass;
And when we all get lots of work
We’ll soon get lots of brass.

With right good trade, and fairly paid,
I dare bet thou a crown,
There’ll not be such a place i’ th’ world
As merry Gorton town.

Composed in 1865 by John Beswick, the song was very popular because of its representation of the state of trade and politics after the Civil War in America.

John Beswick, also known as 'Parish Jack', was a singer and fiddler. He was in great demand at merrymakings and was a member of the Gorton choir.

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"GORTON TOWN" SONG

Gosh, dang it, lads, we’re coming again, Though many a mile I’ve been; A Gorton lad i’m born and bred, And lots of sights I’ve seen.

But when I did come back again, I nearly fell in fits, For times and folks so alter’d look’d, I thought I’d lost me wits.

I turn’d me north, I turnd me south, I turn’d me east and west, And every thing so alter'd look’d, And some were none for th’ best.

They’m even alter’d Goose Green pump, They’m turn’d it upside down, And th’ well they’m choked with pavingstones, Since I left Gorton town.

When I left home some years ago, Th’ old folks had lots of trade; Some right good jobs came tumbling in, And every one well paid.

We’d good roast beef and pudding, And ale some decent swigs; Egad! they liv’d like fighting-cocks, And got as fat as pigs.

But now, egad! there’s none such things; Poor folk have empty tripes; There’s no roast beef to stuff their hides, Its Poor Law soup and swipes.

An honest working man’s no chance; Grim want does on him frown; I ne'er thought things would come to this, When I left Gorton town.

In days gone by our fine young men Ne'er told such dismal tales; They'd ne'er a man transplanted then As far as New South Wales.

We’d honest men in Parliament Both Tories, Rads and Whigs; They were never known poor folk to rob, But now they’re turned to prigs.

Our manufac’rers worked full time, Their mills were seldom stopt; No general turn-outs were there then, Their wages never dropt.

These Corn-law folks and Chartist lads, Might talk till all were brown, Without being sent to treading-mills When I left Gorton town.

In days gone by I never thought Such days could come as these, When lads were all as gay as larks, And wenches bright as bees.

Right merrily they jogg’d to th’ fairs In clogs and light shalloon, And every one could sport a face Just like a harvest moon.

But now the clogs and light shalloons, Each one has thrown aside, And lasses now are faded moons; They’re grown too proud to stride.

The foolish frumps sport mutton pumps, And yet, their pride to crown, They’ve hustles tied behind ‘em Half as large as Gorton town.

But dang it, lads; aw’st ne’er forget, When first I came i’ th’ town, A pretty wench came up to me, And says, "Where art thou bound?"

But putting all these jokes aside, We hope these times will mend; There’ll come a day yet when the rich Will prove the poor man’s friend.

When work and honest poverty Will meet with due regard; And plotting knaves and creeping slaves Will get their just reward.

It’s soon or late, as sure as fate, Such things will come to pass; And when we all get lots of work We’ll soon get lots of brass.

With right good trade, and fairly paid, I dare bet thou a crown, There’ll not be such a place i’ th’ world As merry Gorton town.