Lankyshire's present

Up passages so narrow
  Th'as to squeeze,
Through steep terraced rows
  'gainst raw Pennine breeze.

Streets once cobbled
  Under hoof and wheel,
Now not a hobble
  Nor cloppity reel.

No mares, no foals
  Lest for deceitful treat.
No mines, no coal,
  To labourer's defeat.

A walk down't' canal
  Old Liverpool to Leeds
Still pit heads at' banks
  But no barges int reeds.

Horse-drawn loads long forgotten
  Unto rod and reel.
Gone the glory days of cotton
  And factories' ferocious peal.

No more are't' bustling mills,
  Now flats or crumbling shells.
No chimneys to adorn the hills
  And bugger all to sell.

Lankyshire once was mighty,
  Weaved the crown its jewels.
Lankyshire now blighted in Blighty,
  Out of work, unrenewed.

Alas in modern times to stride,
  A Lanky lad must leave.
Pints of Wainwright to London Pride,
  And tertiary sector slave.

O'er Watford wider still the Gap,
  Divide grows deep with greed.
Alas, the South would sadly lack
  If not for industrial creed.