Five simple bits o' wood,
As cleean scraped aat as if it had
Ne'er held a bit o' food;
"Tha slotch!" sed Bill, "aw do believe
Tha'd ait me if tha could."

Next day he browt a butcher,
For his patience had been tried,
An' wi a varry deeal to do,
Its legs wi rooap they tied;
An' then his shinin knife he drew
An' stuck it in its side--
It mud ha been a crockadile,
Bi th' thickness ov its hide.

But blooid began to flow, an' then
Its long legg'd race wor run;
They scalded, scraped, an' hung it up,
An' when it all wor done,
Fowk coom to guess what weight it wor,
And mony a bit o' fun
They had, for Billy's mother said
"It ought to weigh a ton."

Billy wor walkin up an' daan,
Dooin nowt but fume an' fidge!
He luk'd at th' pig--then daan he set,
I'th nook o'th' window ledge,
He saw th' back booan wor sticken aght,
Like th' thin end ov a wedge;