Gas lighter John
I’m wee John, the gas lighting man,
An it’s nineteen twenty two,
Ah light thon lamps in Blantyre town
Tae help ye get aroun
Wi ma torch n glove, every night
Ah Touch the gas, n whit a sight
Night turns day at every abode
Aw alang the glesga road
A dangerous job n awfy tricky,
A dyin job as here comes leccy,
A hunner posts, on each sunset,
So bairns in darkness wullnae fret
Curtains pulled on the old main street,
Days work done, n carpets beat
Wee John is here, it’s half the eight,
Time fir dinner, it’s getting late.
Ah see the day when thers so many posts,
Theyll hiv tae git me help
Apprentice gasman, ahll train n tell
Fir lamps will never light thersel
I wish thon posts were sma n low
Ma job wid surely be touch n go
Ma question tae you ah put
Jist who on earth pits them oot?
Ah’ve only got the wan good erm,
n it’s covered ah in bruises,
Fae working wi street gas aw day,
Imagine it wis in hooses!
Rosendale is lit, ma stories done,
An blantir is bright ah kin say
A final thought, ye’d like ma joab,
Ah git tae sleep aw day!
Paul Veverka 2012