Wi allus draw raffle tickets
from Willie Wainwright's hat -
It's a tradition at t'luncheon club,
Ivvery body knows that.
A natty check, wi a cheeky feather,
Sort a rakish an' debonair,
Though t'rouhned t'brim, alas, like Willie,
It's showing signs a wear.
T'tickets wa sold, prizes set owt,
Eager-faced rouhned t'table folk sat.
T'counterfoils wa ready, neatly folded -
all we wanted wer Willie's 'at.
"T'sun wer shinin," Willie tried to explain,
'Is eyes downcast at 'is sin.
The wa gasps o' horror - tha wer no 'at -
Willie 'adn't browt it wi 'im!
The wa now for it but ter improvise -
an' sumbody cem up wi' a tin.
Fowk, still in shock, watched in silence -
t'tickets dropped reluctantly in.
Willie's sister, Florrie, wa reight put owt,
she took it reight bad did t'lass.
"Drawin' tickets from a tin," she sniffed,
"Things hev come ter a pretty pass!"
Wi owt more ta do t'tickets wer drawn,
an' soon all t'prizes wa won.
But non a prize winners managed a smile -
In fact, they all looked quite glum.
T'prizes wer grand, but no-one wa chuffed -
t'party spirit had fallen flat.
All becos t'tickets wer drawn from a tin -
instead a Willie's 'at.
"Naa look what tha's done!" Florrie exclaimed -
"Tha's spoilt ivveryone's pleasure!"
Willie's face wa showin' t'strain,
As 'e got Florrie's tounge in full measure.
"On such a nice day," Willie defended 'imself,
"Comin' 'atless is surely no crime?"
"Wi want non a thi excuses," said Florrie wi scorn,
"Tha's bin owt voted this time -
"Tha dun't hev ta wear it, but bring it tha must!
Wi aar unanimous on that.
Sa if tha can't cum thi sen, arr Willie -
remember ta SEND THI 'AT!"
