Northern Girl

She cut her teeth on a whetstone
made of red northern brick
and cans of Strongbow.
Spitting out fillings (and farthings and shillings)
’cause the good old days are still going on round ‘ere.
Or, at least they were when I were a girl.
And what the fuck’s Jacques Brel
is that not an ale?
It’ll tan you my love, so you’d better be careful
If you’re necking that stuff after dark, after dark.
Yer nana won’t stand for these
songs and poems, she’s got real work on
and you’d better take notice.
Bone idle you won’t be (or lazy or useless)
’cause the tough old days are still going on round’ere.
Just like they were when I were a girl.
And what the fucks a caveat?
Is that not a pastry?
You’ll get fat my love, so you’d better stop maybe
If you want some fella to marry you by 23, by 23.
That’s the age I was mind,
when I met my Michael and went off to sign
on, to keep us ticking over.
Weddings aren’t cheap (or babies, or houses)
And the good one’s will be gone quick round ‘ere
Or, at least they would be if I were a girl.
Stop crying.
Stop moping.
Stop shouting.
Stop sulking.
Keeping writing (but just as a hobby, eh).
You can’t turn to crime, it’s in every direction
But don’t aim to high – you won’t like rejection
Just sit with me a while, we’ll figure it out.
Like they did for me, when I were a girl.
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