My Granda Was a Rag Man
By James
Out in the old comer van I’d go with him,
Right son, lets get going, as he scratched his chin.
I was nine years old at the time,
What an adventure- see my face shine!
He lets me blow the bugle,
As we stop along the way.
Blowing hard as I can, just to make a sound-
Wondering if I ‘m going to make a couple of pounds.
Any old Rags? Any old Rags?
Is the cry.
Come on son, you give it a try!
Aeroplanes, Chocolate planes,
Lots of toys for girls and boys,
Pink for the girls, blue for the boys!
Any old Rags? Any old Rags?
Granda banters and barters with the women,
A laugh and a quid and look at them blooming!
Another ten bob in my pocket if we have a good turn,
A smile on his face as his pipe take a burn.
Lots of toys for girls and boys!
I’m sorting the bags of clothes in the van,
Pink for the girls, blue for the boys!
Lifting and sorting as fast as I can,
With a load full of clothes and still some balloons.
We head to ‘The Briget’ to empty the van.
Back in a minute, guard the van, son.
I’m off to see the man to get the deal done.
Any old rags? Any old rags?
When I think back now of those times we had,
It makes me proud and also glad.
Any old rags? Any old rags?
My Granda was a Rag Man.