Ther never wur such times as these, naw, nee’r sin th’ world wur made,
Ther’s nowt but gents un ladies neaw, ut’s work’d i’ th’ cotton trade,
For harder toimes wur never felt, that’s weel known to be true,
Un th’ hardest wark we han just neaw, is gooin to th’ Factory Skoo.
We’re ladies neaw un gentlemen,
Un paid for gooin Skoo.
Six heawrs a day we han th’ be there, furt make us
o moor wise,
One heawr ther is for reedin, un one heawr for exercise,
For sodiers soon we shall o be, bekose we’n nowt else th’ do,
To guard eawr whoms un country, eawr Queen, un th’ Factory Skoo.
Some lads ith’ little spellin reads, un some does rule o’ three,
Un some uts gone to th eend o’ th’ book, are a good deol fur nor me;
Ther’s others if they getten th’ news, ul read for one or two,
Un tawk of war, distress, or trade, at eawr Factory Skoo.
Un th’ women too are larnin sew, un larnin rite and reed,
They’r makin shirts un neetcaps, un other things we need,
When th’ panic’s o’ er they’ll mak good wives, un ne’er ha’ cause to rue,
They’ll bless an praise thoose panic days, they went to th’ Factory Skoo.
It’s a trate these times th’ see owd un yung, attendin to ther books,
No heavy troubles weighs um deawn, to judge um by ther looks,
Un very kind it is to o’ ut helps us th’ winter throo,
We’n return it back a theawsand toimes o th’
breaking up ut Skoo.
Eawr pashunce and eawr fortitude, is known throo eawt the world,
Un th’ banner with the word “Distress” is everywhere unfurl’d,
Let Yankees raise ther flag o’ peace, un bid God speed the plough,
We'll shew um then i' England whot we larnt at th' Factory Skoo.