Shakers.
We come from a lovely owd town
In a valley between’t’ Pennine hills
Where smoke once shrouded our landscape
From factory chimneys and Mills
The passing of years changed our borough
The cotton trade we had to ditch.
But it’s still a hard life for us poor folk.
And good fortune still favours the rich.
Our town became subject to changes.
With plans handed down from above.
They’ll make us a bike lane on’t busiest road.
And tear down the streets that we love.
The council makes planning approval
For rich people’s construction dreams
For building investment opportunities.
And lucrative commercial schemes.
“ Our town will attract lots of tourists!”
Said one fella up from the Smoke
He had all his facts and figures at hand.
You could tell he was that sort of bloke’
He was not one that ought to be trusted.
Not one you’d consider a mate.
Instead of the newspaper wrappings.
He ate fish and chips from a plate?.
A strange sort o’ chap if you ask me.
Deranged and really quite queer.
He came down tut pub to befriend us.
Then moaned at the froth on his beer.
Our precinct he’d change to a Strasse,
or a sun beaten “ Calle “ from Spain.
The cafe’s would put chairs and tables outside
And we’ll have our dinner in’t rain !
They’ll replace the pubs and the chip shops.
Wi Coffee shops trendy and new
They ‘ll put up a bridge to the Old town
And charge fifteen quid for a brew.
This is the town we call home.
Our people are the salt of the earth.
Some have been “ Shakers” for most of their lives.
Many are “ Shakers”from birth.
They call us the Shakers from Bury
Together we fulfilled our aim.
We outwitted con men and doubters to bring
Our football team back to Gigg lane.