(They really could be a right set of bastards.  And the thing that's "warm and wet" might be described as a form of aural sex).

 

A collier's to be found

A mile underground

And not in the sunlight like other hominids

Though he loves his mates and wife

His would cut them like a knife

There's no humour crueller than colliers and kids.

 

A fat kid hears the cries

Of “Who ate all the pies?”

Or maybe “Specky Four-Eyes” God forbid;

But are a Yorkshire miner's

Manners any finer

There's no humour crueller than colliers and kids.

 

They'll issue small pit boots

To young and green recruits

And kid them that at 3am they broadcast porno vids

Next day it's no surprise

To see their bleary eyes

There's no humour crueller than colliers and kids.

 

He treasures dignity

And detests authority

But grudgingly does as the Overman bids

Though he'll piss in his hard hat

For laughs – no more than that

Cos there's no humour crueller than colliers and kids.

 

They'll goad the Deputy

And enjoy his misery

They'll watch a grown man cry 'cos his snaptin they'll have hid

And any mate they'll hound

Whose wife has played around

Cos there's no humour crueller than colliers and kids.

 

And if you should close your eyes

Prepare for some surprise

'Cos while you're dreaming of the Pyramids

Something warm and wet, I fear,

Will nuzzle in your ear;

There's no humour crueller than colliers and kids.

 

But when the chips are down

When danger's all around

I'd stake my old age pension or a million quid

You'd sooner share your plight

With mining men, despite

There's no humour crueller than colliers and kids.