When we were kids, we played hide and seek in the old graveyard at the bottom of the lane
In sunshine hail or rain, we’d shriek and run between the moss covered headstones.
After dark, we would hop the crumbling wall; scarper through the park, having a lark.
Youngfellas told stories of the headless horseman, emerging from the grave.
Pretending they were brave, they’d saunter past, smoke a fag, then brag, and slag the rest of us as we ran up the lane.
Not looking back until we reached the farm, meaning no harm, feeling brave once more, we would chant …
‘Mad Mary sells fish, three ha’pennies a dish’.
God love her, we gave her an awful life
I don’t think she was really mad, she was only the oul farmers wife.
We thought we were cool but, how cruel were our words.
When we were young, we tried to belong, be part of the gang
As we laughed and sang…