Cushie Butterfield
Words by George Ridley
From the album: For Our Children: 10th Anniversary Edition
 

 

I'm a broken hearted keelman
And I'm o'erd in love
With a young lass in Gateshead
And I call her me dove.
Her name's Cushie Butterfield
And she sells yella clay
And her cousin is a muckman
And they call him Tom Grey.

She's a big lass she's a bonny lass
And she likes her beer,
And I call her Cushie Butterfield
And I wish she was here.

Her eyes is like two holes
In a blanket burnt through.
And her breath in the morning brows
Would scare a young cow

And when I hear her shouting
"Will you buy any clay?"
Like a candyman's trumpet,
It steals my heart away.

She's a big lass she's a bonny lass
And she likes her beer,
And I 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
And her stockings once was white,
And her petticoat's lilac,
And her hat's never straight.

She's a big lass she's a bonny lass
And she likes her beer,
And I call her Cushie Butterfield
And I wish she was here.

When I asked 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'm nought but a fool.

She's a big lass she's a bonny lass
And she likes her beer,
And I 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."

She's a big lass she's a bonny lass
And she likes her beer,
And I call her Cushie Butterfield
And I wish she was here.