I's a broken hearted keelman
and I's overhead in love
With a young lass in Gateshead
and I call her my dove.
Her name is Cushie Butterfield
and she sells yellow clay
And her cousin is a muckman
and they call him Tom Grey.
Chorus:
She's a big lass and a bonny lass
and she likes her beer,
And they call her Cushie Butterfield
and I wish she was here.
Her eyes is like two holes
in a blanket burnt through.
Her brows in a morning
would spyen* a young cow.
And when I hear her shouting
"Will you buy any clay ?"
Like a candyman's trumpet,
it steals my heart away.
Chorus:
She's a big lass and a bonny lass
and she likes her beer,
And they call her Cushie Butterfield
and I wish she was here.
You'll oft see her down at Sandgate
when the fresh herring comes in.
She's like a bagful of sawdust
tied round with a string.
She wears big galoshes too
and her stockings once was white,
And her petticoat's lilac,
and her hat's never straight.
Chorus:
She's a big lass and a bonny lass
and she likes her beer,
And they call her Cushie Butterfield
and I wish she was here.
When I axed her to marry me
she started to laugh.
"Now none of your monkey tricks,
for I like ne such chaff."
Then she started a blubbing,
and she roared like a bull,
And the chaps on the quay says
I's nought but a fool.
Chorus:
She's a big lass and a bonny lass
and she likes her beer,
And they call her Cushie Butterfield
and I wish she was here.
She says the chap that gets her
must work every day.
And when he comes home at nights
he must gang and seek clay.
And when he's away seeking,
she'll make balls and sing,
"O well may the keel row
that my laddie's in."
Chorus:
She's a big lass and a bonny lass
and she likes her beer,
And they call her Cushie Butterfield
and I wish she was here.
* "spyen" - dry up a cow's milk.