Taychin’ yow ’ow t’spake

Aye dow min t’ confuze yow un’ aye baynt bein’ saft Un’ cuz yow cor rayde me spake it dow min yam daft Arm gunner ’av a gew at taychin’ yow ’ow to spake

Fust an’ most importantlye ya gorra open yower cakehole That’z yower mouth an’ yower ’ole f’ kek A kek cud be med with barley but rowund ’ere barley is a truce afta yow fall owt with yower cocker Wen iz tongues bin too loose

If yow dow fancy kek mebby a coggin-nogger mite suffice? A nice thick sarnie foewer a’ riznable price Cuz a codge ay buyin’ yow scrap foewer tay Thee price ov sandwiches theze dayze costin’ th’ sea Un’ cost isn’t ‘the damage’ – “cost” mins “can yow?” Cost yow kip up now?

Aye cor wet foewer prices ta get lowerd we dowt so cut “Cut” iz a Black Country waterway cuz them wus “cut” owert yow say? Arve throwd yow in thee deep end ay aye Frit iz a chip bu’ noh’ rownd ’ere Frit iz to be frightened an’ scared to jeth Jeth ay a bloke; iz Jed and that’s death and dead enough sed

Ger owt thee ’oss rowud – that’s horse road or strait un’ By tha’ aye mean street not straight but the Romans did Pliz b’leave aye ain’t ’avin a loff; do yow know wot a lezzer iz? It’s a meadow or a lea in ower dialect, aye promise it iz Aye bet yoewer in a lather lunnin’ this ancient spake

Langwidge iz ockerd un’ comes frum thee ’ole past Owers iz Anglo-saxon mixed-up, mongrel if ya lyk or “wammel” a Saxon wud cast An ’xample “wench” manes a gerl frum “wencel” meanin’ child So yow see ower history iz deep inside

So dower ponder on ower inability t’spake like ower dear ole Queen Afta a luverly Jubilee celebration She’z Saxon too so dow be so unkyooth un’ spoil ’er jubilation Rowund ’ere yull get a lamp un’ larrupin’ if yoewer know wha’ ar’mean Arm jus’ jestin’ weir luverly folk rowund ’ere

Come un’ spake bout ower langwidge un’ wuds ova a bostin’ Black Country beer That’z how lang-widge stez alive and it’s important that it duz Cuz once nobody knowz wot words mean or where them frum Dialects gone!