Things you didn't know about the Black Country and local Humour.

Here's a little bit of true Black Country humour that happened one Saturday morning;

I am demolishing an old farm building with the kind help of my neighbour Brian who's wife's name is Tina, as I went to go outside my wife said, "you cant go out like that you zip is undone and Tina may be around," I said to her; "I've got nothing worth looking at," and she said, "but Tina don't know that"!!

A salutory lesson on the use of spellcheckers from Bob Hart.

I have a spelling chequer it came with my Pea Sea
When ever I do spell things wrong it puts them write for me
No matter how long or short the word it's simple as can bee
I only have to press a key it's automatically
When I right a letter now I never get perplexed
The programme is all worked out inside, and it
says, that this has past a cheque

Grandad
(a poem by Ray Jones)

Me Grandad lives in our attic
He's fat and he's not very tall
He's ever so old and asthmatic
And he's not a nice man at all

He eats all his meals on his lap
Or sometimes while lying in bed
It's usually nothin but pap
'Cause he ain't got a tooth in his head

He does nothing but look at the telly
Mam says it's a terrible vice
He just sits there and scratches his belly
And I don't think that's very nice

He sits around in his vest
Which has holes and is not very clean
You can see all the hair on his chest
And I don't think that should be seen

He smokes a dirty old pipe
And the dribble runs all down his chin
He never gives it a wipe
And it's making brown stains on his skin

There are tattoos all up his arms
Of ladies (and all of them nude)
He says that the pictures have charms
But I think they're silly and rude

His shirts are all ragged and torn
And his trousers are dirty and greasy
His jacket is baggy and worn
And his fleece is no longer fleecy

He shaves only once every week
And his skin is all bristly and rough
When I kiss him it scratches my cheek
And I sneeze from the smell of his snuff

Often he coughs and he sneezes
He does it sometimes in your face
It could spread all kinds of diseases
And I think that that's a disgrace

I think that me grandad's a pest
He's a terrible tease and a scold
And one day he sadly confessed
That it's not nice to be old

Some day me grandad will die
And the attic'll be empty and bare
Perhap's when he's gone I will cry
But I don't know how much I will care

Who else will live in the attic?
I've no idea who it might be
Perhaps someone else who's asthmatic?
One day it could even be me.

Aynuk was in the pub one Saturday night and on checking his lottery ticket numbers found that he was a winner. He jumped up and shouted, “Ah’ve won the lottery, ah’ve won the lottery,” and charged off home shouting the same all the way there. He rushed in the house and the following ensued:

Breathless Aynuk: Pack yer bags quick, ah’ve won the lottery, quick, pack yer bags.
Mrs Aynuk: ‘Ang on a minute, what for? We’erm we agooen, seaside or abroad?
Aynuk: Doe worry about that, just pack yer bags an’ clear off.

Ayli after dialling 999: Cum quick, me ‘ouse is afire.
Operator: Keep calm. How do we get there?
Ayli: Yoan got one of them big red trucks ay yer? Well come in that.

Car Snobbery

By Bob Hart

Socialising with snobs, when they open their gobs,
The cars they drive are unique, but the name on the car
Is different by far from the one expressed by this clique

The Deutchlanders make an Audi, a car that boasts some style,
how does the Owdy develop from Audi enough to make anyone smile
The name I hate most made by the same countries host
a Volks Vagen, my brains put my tongue in a knot

Now the Germans have problems with their W’s, why I’m at a loss,
Perhaps they should take elocution; I would recommend Jonathon Ross,
we all know that wagon is English as Constable painted the Wain
but the next one is utterly stupid when I hear it, it causes me pain

When Shakespeare wrote Romeo and Juliet these names are phonetic,
It very pathetic so much alphabetic, when used every day of our life,
But now Romeo is now Romayo, was the first one imported to Brum?
Co’s a Fowerd is a Fowerd there’s nowt wrung with that,
if that from weer yo cum.