It’s a town that cannot boast of much – it doesn’t have much brass

It’s shabby and it’s downbeat and it even has less class

In one regard though it’s well blessed, this mining town of Cas

There’s a wealth here of hatchet-faced women.

Already I’ve misled you cos the local pits have shut

Replaced by bookies, nailbars and other retail smut

Where even the pet pit bulls here get tattooed on their butt

Rather like the hatchet-faced women.

Now you might think their femininity’s a little butch

But take one on a date you’ll find they’re not expecting much

Five Park Drives, a Mackeson should guarantee a touch

Or more from the hatchet-faced women.

And never question their fertility – it’s not in doubt

With three abreast in buggy prams young mums sure knock ’em out

So what protection do they use? They’ll happily say “Nowt”

“Live on the edge” say the hatchet-faced women.

Now you might think in these few words I’ve been a little crass

To tar with one fell brush sweep the town’s entire female mass

But get off from your moral high horse – visit us in Cas

And see for yourself the hatchet-faced women.