chocks2
master brummie
Just A Lad
I Listen to the stories; He tells me - that's my dad,
Memories now distant, of when he was a lad.
Streets were paved with blue brick and trams that ran on track,
Houses that were terraced all standing back to back
Every now and then, dark entries to the yard,
Washday Mangles ready, a womans work was hard.
A tin bath in the corner propped against the wall,
A coal-hole that lay empty, the darkest room of all.
An outside toilet draughty, the coldness of the floor,
Newspaper hanging proudly on a nail stuck in the door.
Children playing in the road for cars were very rare,
Holes in shoes and card stuffed in they didn't really care.
I'm glad I didn't live back then, I'm glad it's in the past
To him it's just fond memories, that through his life will last.
I Listen to the stories; He tells me - that's my dad,
Memories now distant, of when he was a lad.
Streets were paved with blue brick and trams that ran on track,
Houses that were terraced all standing back to back
Every now and then, dark entries to the yard,
Washday Mangles ready, a womans work was hard.
A tin bath in the corner propped against the wall,
A coal-hole that lay empty, the darkest room of all.
An outside toilet draughty, the coldness of the floor,
Newspaper hanging proudly on a nail stuck in the door.
Children playing in the road for cars were very rare,
Holes in shoes and card stuffed in they didn't really care.
I'm glad I didn't live back then, I'm glad it's in the past
To him it's just fond memories, that through his life will last.
