Wigan Refugee
By
John G. Sutton
I was living in Wigan
Up from the cut
Every the time the wind blew
The doors banged shut
The plumbing was knackerd
The kitchen was a bin
The windows were leaking
And the rain poured in
Couldn’t really fettle it
No good at D.I.Y.
And too busy watching telly
To give it a try
The wife said ‘sell the bastard!’
Well It’s easier said than done
We put it on the market, no bugger come
Twelve months later, waiting to flit
Stuck in stinky Wigan, up from the pit
A stranger came to view it
I shook him by the hand
Pointed to the pitscape
Said ‘ain’t it ruddy grand!
Reet handy fot’ swimmin’
Just a stones throw from the cut’
The silly sod bought it
We were glad to get shut
So now we live in’t posh part
We’ve flitted out to Leigh
Bollocks to George Orwell
I’m a Wigan refugee.
© John G. Sutton 1998