Aw Wod This War Wur Ended Poem by William Billington

There's nobuddy knows wod we'n gooan through
    Sin' th' factories stopt at fost,
An' heaw mitch life's bin wasted too,
    An heaw mitch brass we'n lost;
Aw trys sometimes to reckon up,
    Bud keawntin connud mend id;
When aw sit deawn wi nowt to sup—
    Aw wod this war wur ended.

A boddy's lifetime's nod so lung—
    Nod them as lives to th' lungust;
Sooa dusend id seem sadly wrung
    For th' healthiest an' strungust
To give three wul years' pith an' pride
    To rust an' ruin blended,
An ravin up o'th' loss beside?—
    Aw wod this war wur ended!

A dacent chap ull do his best,
    An' eawt o' wod he's earnin
Ged th' owdest son a trade, an' th' rest
    O' th' lads a bit o' learnin;
Bud iv he's eawt o' wark; wey then,
    Unschollard, unbefriended,
His childer grow up into men—
    Aw wod this war wur ended!

As times hes bin, aw owt some 'tin'
    For shop stuff ut Lung Nailey's,
An' case aw cuddent pay 't, yo sin,
    He's gooan an' sent th' bum bailies ;
They'n sowd us up, booath pot an' pooak,
    An' paid th' owd scoor off splendid;
They just dun wod they will wi fooak.—
    Aw wod this war wur ended!

Neaw aw feer noather dun nor bum,
    Wi o their kith an' kin'—
They'll fetch nowt eawt o' th' heawse, by gum!
    Becose there's nowt left in.
Aw'm welly weary o mi life,
    An' cuddend, if aw'd spend id,
Ged scran for th' kids, mysel, an' th' wife.—
    Aw wod this war wur ended!

Some forrud foos ull rant reet hard,
    An' toke a deal o' nonsense;
Bud let um gabble tell theyr terd,
    Id's reet enuff i' one sense;
They waste their brass an' rack their brains,
    Yet, be nod yo offended,
They'll ged their labour for their pains,
    Bud th' war's nod theerby ended!

Some factory maisters tokes for t' Seawth
    Wi' a smooth an' oily tongue,
Bud iv they'd sense they'd shut their meawth,
    Or sing another song;
Let liberty nod slavery
    Be fostered an' extended—
Four million slaves mun yet be free,
    An' then t' war will be ended.