P.S. To Santa

P.S. To Santa

by Ivor Davis

Dear Fairther Christmas

I thought as I'd write

Ter thank yer fer comin' ter visit.

We'd all 'ung we socks up,

An' our kid put a box up!

But that ay really fair, now is it?
On Christmas Eve night

We wus all tucked up tight,

Our Moll an' our kid an' then me.

The babby was theer

In th' ode basket cheer

It was 'is fust Christmas, yer see.
We tried ever so 'ard

But we couldn't drop off,

We was frittened in cairse as yo' caught we.

But it tairned owt all right,

So I thought as I'd write,

Ter thank yer fer all as yo' brought we
Yo ought ter 'a' sid

The sight of our kid

When 'e opened 'is eyes in the mornin';

Yo'd brought 'im a train

And a book o' John Wayne

An' a motor with lights an' an 'orn in!
An' that little black doll

As yo' brought fer our

Moll'Er 'ugged it as if 'er could crush it.

An' yo' ay 'arf a lamb

Ter gi'e her a pram,

It's jus' right fer the nipper ter push it.
I do mind ser much

As yo' forgot abowt me'

Cos t'others was ever ser graiteful

An' p'raps now I'm nine

I'm too ode t'ave mine

A' what they got was a pretty good plairteful
I asked for a scooter

Yo' thought I said 'ooter'

Cos yo' brought the babby a trumpet

But when I sid 'is glee

I day mind about me;'

E's 'appy.

Soo I'll 'a' ter lump it.

Cute HUH?