Huthersfield down i' yon dale;
One's a place for free-born Britons,
t'other's ommost like a jail.

Here we live i' t' leet an' sunshine,
free as larks i' t' sky aboon;
Theer men tew(2) like mowdiwarps(3)
that grub up muck by t' glent o' t' moon.

See yon motor whizzin' past us,
ower th' owd brig that spans our beck;
That's what fowk call modern progress,
march o' human intelleck.

Modern progress, modern ruin!
March o' int'leck, march o' fooils!
All that cooms o' larnin' childer
i' their colleges an' schooils.

Eddication! Sanitation!!--
teeming brass reight down a sink;
Eddication's nowt but muckment,
sanitation's just a stink.

Childer mun have books an' picturs,
bowt at t' most expensive shops,
Teliscowps to go star-gazin',
michaelscowps to look at lops.(4)

Farmers munnot put their midden