Ee there lad,
Addle a grasp,
Pull yorsel together.
Aint nowt worse,
‘n a marrdy brat,
As what can’t andle t’weather.
A bit o’ cowd,
N’er did no ‘arm,
Minus five‘s likn barmy Spring day.
Ten foot o’ snow,
T’were norm in meh youth,
An’ y’d never hear nowt o’ this bray.
So stop all yer bawlin’,
An’ put on yer cap,
This frettin is mekin me vexed.
N’ if yer still chilled,
Then speak t’ yer ma,
N’ shil knit yer some warm under-cecks.