Along with the well-known explanation in The Jargon File, an earlier quotation might be supplied:
Owd Pinder were a rackless foo,
An’ spent his days i’ spreein’;
At th’ end ov every drinkin’-do,
He ’re sure to crack o’ deein’;
“Go, sell my rags, an’ sell my shoon;
Aw ’s never live to trail ’em;
My ballis-pipes are eawt o’ tune,
An’ th’ wynt begins to fail ’em! [...]
The full text by some Edwin Waugh (1818-1890) is here. It's written in South Lancashire dialect, as I recently read elsewhere.