Get yourself to Beamish, the open air museum
‘The North of England’s heritage’ is its’ task and theme
Now Beamish has come of age since nineteen seventy
When it opened for the first time for all the world to see
Get yourself to Beamish
Wilf Mitford
Goodbye Killingworth Towers
Chorus
So it’s goodbye Killingworth Towers
You should never have been built at all
There’ll be plenty of cheers and not many tears
When Alcatraz begins to fall
At The Oxford (A Tribute to Don Smith)
CHORUS;
At The Oxford in Newcastle, that’s where we used to meet
There were plenty’ lasses on the floor dancing to the beat
And if you got to take one home, your night would be complete
There was many a match made at The Oxford
Gazza The Geordie From Gateshead
He was born and bred in Gateshead, this famous Geordie lad
And on his seventh birthday, got a football from his dad
It didn’t take him long to learn to play that game
Though the other kids scoffed him, he was on his way to fame
Grab a Granny Neet
CHORUS:
They come from many miles aroond on Grab a Granny Neet
From the country and the toons on Grab a Granny Neet
As long as you’re not fussy, and ye divvent have two left feet
You can hardly fail to score on Grab a Granny Neet Continue reading
The Great North Run
CHORUS: It was thirteen miles at the most on the Great North Run
From Newcastle to the South Shields coast, on the Great North Run
The Hoppings Song
In Newcastle on Tyne ev’ry year,
On the Town Moor there is a fair,
The Hoppings in the last full week of June.
The largest travelling fair around,
Gets the show off the ground,
Race Saturday commencing at twelve noon.
That’s Northumbria
In the North of England there’s a beautiful land,
A Kingdom of castles and silvery sands,
Where the wall built by Hadrian, the Emperor, stands,
That’s Northumbria
From Seaton Sluice to Sydney
I was born in Newcastle on the Tyne
I’ve lived in Northumbria all the time
But now I must leave
Friends and family don’t you grieve
In Australia I’ll be doing fine
The Pitman Poet
CHORUS : So here’s to the memory of Tommy Armstrong
He was the pitman poet, righting all life’s wrongs
In the words of his poems which are now folk songs
Here’s to the memory of Tommy Armstrong
He was the pitman poet, recording life and times
In the late eighteen hundreds in his verses and his rhymes
When the main source of earnings was working down the mines
And sometimes the wages there were paid back in fines
