Now here was a man as rough as they come
You'd be surprised, he wasn't from Brum
He wore baggy trousers with no shirt
He was always brown, he never burnt.
He was born at home, eldest of three
Middle of town, historic Dudley
He'd three kids and he was wed
He made sure his koi carp were fed.
Yes, Jack, he was a really good bloke
Just like the next he loved a good joke
He was a Brickie, he loved his job
But he only ever made a few bob.
Now Jack he loved to have a race
Not horses, but pigeons put a smile on his face
He'd give his lucky bald head a rub
But he won nowt at the Old Park Pub.
Everyone in Dudley all knew Jack
He'd give you the coat off his back
Don't be sad, he hated doom and gloom
But aged 54, The Brickie was gone too soon.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem