The beauty contest
The beauty contest
This, an astonishing story
As 'appened in days way back when
Women were birds (if they wanted)
And men were allowed to be men.
There were none of this Health, Safety nonsense,
And if tha' lost a leg while at work,
You'd 'ave to go 'oppit to 'dole queue
And 'missus would call thee a berk.
Well, back in them days, they 'ad contests
For women as thought they looked nice,
To parade in their best swimmin' cossies,
Wi' perhaps just a splash of Old Spice.
Lord Mayor of Bradford, were for'ard
Thinking, said,"We'll 'ave one of those,
Our city's a place full of women
As don't 'ave a reet lot of clothes."
They booked some celebrity judges,
Johnny Craddock and his missus Fanny,
The lady what cleaned the cathedral,
And Jeremy Clarkson's old granny.
Come day of 'contest, there were dozens,
As lined up, along 'canal side,
Some, what were looking 'alf decent
And others, a dozen foot wide.
Sue from Holmewood looked fair tasty,
She'd borrowed a fresh pair of teeth,
But was given the boot 'ere the final
For being a plumber called Keith.
"What do you do, young miss, for a 'obby,
"Well me, I like children," claimed Kate,
And looking at size of 'er belly,
Kiddies were what the girl ate.
Wi' all 'er tattoos spelled correctly,
Dorothy, were firm favourite,
Till it come time for answering questions,
When she said, she thought Clarkson were shit.
Now in them days, there weren't many muslims
Perhaps they 'ad got too much sense
Than to turn up in 'igh 'eels and swimsuits,
For the sake of a few rotten pence.
Bradford's most beautiful ladies,
And to tell thee the truth, some of 'worst,
But who would be placed in the contest,
And which lucky girl would get first?
Judges were quite undecided,
Some wanted Joan, some thought Jenny,
So, when none of the girls was a looking,
Then, slyly, they tossed up a penny.
Third place, were Greta from Greengates,
Second were fat, jolly Joan,
And when Jenny screamed,"Fuck, I'm a winner,"
Everyone let out a groan.
Disqualifying, 'only solution,
'Ead judge 'ad to do summat drastic
First prize went to 'lock-keeper's daughter,
A sweet little thing, Lucy Lastic.
Like this:
Like Loading...
Related
Hobbo's Poems 
That’s quite a Yorksher Yarn, Hobbo! 😂
LikeLiked by 1 person
😂 Another true story from the land of lovers!
LikeLiked by 1 person
I don’t doubt it 🤣
LikeLiked by 1 person
🤣
LikeLiked by 1 person
You little Dickens !! 😂
LikeLike
😂😂
LikeLike
LOL As always, love the Yorkshire ones!! Especially the second stanza!
LikeLiked by 1 person
Thank you. None of that Elf safety rubbish in the Hobbo household! 😂
LikeLike
😂😂
LikeLiked by 1 person
Love reading in the dialect – you are a funny guy
LikeLiked by 1 person
🤣 Thank you Debi. You’ve made my day!
LikeLiked by 1 person
^ yank requesting a translator….😉😁🥃
LikeLiked by 1 person
🤣🤣Where do I start?
LikeLiked by 1 person
A bit difficult to get through the last bit as my eyes were all wet with tears from laughter. I’ll take part in any competition with granny Clarkson in the jury.
LikeLiked by 1 person
🤣🤣 Thanks Ulle!
LikeLiked by 1 person