Granfer Scroodle,
Honest soul,
Never drew no weekly dole;
He served as a hedger
The R.D.C.
and died last week
Ar seventy three.

'I ain't no scollard,'
He often said,
'But I've allus earned
Me daily bread.'

To a mort of things
His mind was Dark,
And he always signed
with Scroodle's 'mark'.

When he went west
A week ago,
We thought he'd left
No sort of dough.
He cut his cloth
Exceeding fine;
The sum in fact
Was four-and-nine.

Therewith was left
By Scroodle's whim
His club deposits
To bury him.
For he always said
'A man ain't made for
Enjoyin' things
He hasn't paid for.'

Granfer Scroodle
All of grit,
Never drew no benefit;
Time held sharper
Shears than he'
And cut him down
At seventy three.