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Updated: May 10, 2025
Hullo, You-sir, joo know th' wuz gon-to be a race to-morrah? Myself. No. Who's gon-to run, 'n' wher's't gon-to be? The Port-chuck. Squire Mico 'n' Doctor Wiliams, round the brim o' your hat.
Thro' fire and flames we've made our way, And danger we have seen; We never can forget the time When we ran with the old machine. In numbers now we are but few, A host have pased away, But still we're happy, light and free, Our spirits never decay We often sigh for those old days Whose memory we keep green, Oh! there was joy for man and boy, When we ran with the old machine. Gus Wiliams.
Hullo, You-sir, joo know th' wuz gon-to be a race to-morrah? Myself. No. Who's gon-to run, 'n' wher's't gon-to be? The Port-chuck. Squire Mico 'n' Doctor Wiliams, round the brim o' your hat.
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