The true story of the Bradford Boar

Tell me a true story Granddad
About life in the good olden days
When gran still had all her own teeth
And you weren't so set in your ways.

Okay, well I'd just met yer granny
At a time when the Dead Sea were living
Pontius was not quite a pilot
And nobody, had heard of just giving.

Gran were a taster for Marmite
Her palate refined, no mistake
And I worked part time, at the butcher's
'Best seller were dinosaur steak.

We lived in a city called Bradford
Yorkshire it were, through and through
And people were living in terror
Of a boar what 'ad bunked it from 'zoo.

Now this, to you, may not sound scary
A fat bellied, oversized porker
But, the tusks on it could 'ave cut glass
And it swore like a native New Yorker.

Now, to kill it, there were a reward
Of maybe three guineas, I think
Which then, would by house and a car
And a kitchen wi' posh fitted sink.

So, eager to make a few bob
I come up wi' a dead cunning plan
Into Bradford Beck, I would lure it
Then chuck it in 'butchering van.

Six gallons of custard and gravy
In buckets, were laid for a trap
I was armed wi' me stick, just in case like
Then hid behind 'bush for a nap.

The clock on 'Town Hall had struck midnight
I woke up, to a blood curdling sound
The boar had kicked all 'buckets ovver
And were 'aving a reet feast on 'ground.

Like a bullet, I sprung from me crouch
And pushed it in 'beck wi' me stick
Bradford Beck ain't the cleanest of watter
And it drownded the boar pretty quick.

Now granddad ain't daft, as you know lad
I knew I were in for 'reward
But I wanted the boar's meat for 'butcher's
So I cut out its tongue wi' a sword.

The Lord Mayor, well, he were delighted
And happy wi' tongue as his proof
I bought gran a house with the money
Wi' extension that 'ad a flat roof.

I became what you might call an 'ero
Folk came, from all ovver the land
To purchase their Bradford Boar Burgers
And say that they'd shaken me hand.