IN A LITTLE WIGAN GARDEN
(Harry Gifford / Fred E Cliffe)

as recorded by George Formby
March 21st 1934


Talk of your beautiful meadows and fields and your parks so grand,
Talk of your wonderful gardens down at Kew.
I know a spot
That can beat all the lot,
It's the best I've seen!
Keep all your hills and dales,
Put me with the slugs and snails!

In a little Wigan garden,
Where the dandelions grow,
With me sweetie, frowsy Flo,
Round the mulberry bush we go!
Underneath the Wigan palm trees,
There I bring her up to scratch.
We have such a game 
On the cucumber frame;
I'd show her the cabbage patch!

When the morning mildew christens our shallots,
Scented breezes coming from the chimney pots!
In a little Wigan garden,
When the soot is fallin' down,
Oh what a place,
What a case,
A disgrace to my home town!

All sorts of things,
Some with wings,
Some with stings
Every night appear.
Glow worms 
And silkworms
And Wigan earwigs too!
Crocuses croak
With the fog and the smoke
From the gasworks near;
The one thing that only grows
Is the wart on me sweetie's nose!

In a little Wigan garden
With me little Wiganese,
Getting stung with bumble bees
Between the cabbage and the peas!
'Neath the Wigan water lillies
Where the drainpipe overflows, 
here's my girl and me,
She'll sit on me knee
And watch how the rhubarb grows!

'Neath the shady trees to my loved one I cling,
While the birds above do everythin' but sing!
It's a rotten Wigan garden,
Everything grows upside down! 
Oh what a place,
What a case,
A disgrace to my home town!




(Transcribed by Peter Akers - September 2017)