Beware the cask and the bad weather,

Cask and feather, they flock together.

Crafty gang-operators, slick in the night,

Snides in the shadows, never in sight.

Oldham Keast Towers—oh, not as it seems,

All polished front, but rust in the beams.

Bill Thirsk still rules with his Federation hand,

But dodgy are his people across this land.

Howard’s gangs stretch over county lines,

Slip through Cumbria, whispering crimes.

Pool and poker, the backroom smoke,

Brown envelopes pass, and the promises choke.

Backstabbing lies, Alex Marsh plays his part,

Deals in the dark that would hollow a heart.

The A627, a highway that bends both ways,

Crossroads of Manchester, Lancashire haze.

Councillors split between good and bad,

Some steady the ship, some drive it mad.

The weather turns quick, the cask fills deep,

Promises borrowed are promises cheap.

So avoid the gangs that are into everything,

Choose life, not the chaos their hustles bring.

The Dale Blues sing it raw, sing it true,

A warning in rhyme—passed on to you.