Tuesday, 4 November 2014

November 4: Horses for courses ...


Hit me, beat me, whip me hard, so I’ll stretch out another yard
Check your bets, clutch your card, I’ll bring the silver home
Flog me, starve me, run me out, have a drink, and for me shout
You know what it’s all about, I run so hard I foam

Feed me, load me up with weight, so I’ll go faster out the gate
Give not a toss about my fate, just race me ‘til I’m done
Run me ‘til my bones give in, celebrate me when I win
When I win the Cup, it’s you who grins, for me it isn’t fun

What a lot of poppy cock, pissed on champers, in their frocks
Just once a year, eyes on the clock, in minutes it’s all over
This is no sport I’m telling you, and when it’s done we go for glue
Or out to stud with nought to do, chomping on the clover

But if I should once break a bone, get the vet man on the phone
Bring his 22 along, and shoot me in the head
Hold a sheet so no-one sees, as one bullet reaches me
I’ve run my race, and now I’m free, it's better that I’m dead

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