THE FIVE FURLONG RACE.

The saddle’s on the favourite, And they’ve put the numbers up; You can hear the ring a roaring All the prices for the Cup; And the ladies on the Grand Stand, And the Tipsters on the course, Are excited as can be, and oh! It’s all about a horse. “An’ I got it from the stable,” cry the Tipsters on the course. The trainer of the favourite Has a smile upon his face; And a little, black outsider Has a chance to win the race: The crowd is round the favourite, He’s a big, upstanding bay, And the tipsters on the course all swear He’s going to win the day. And it’s “Put your money on, sir, for he’ll simply walk away.” There are sixteen horses going To the starting gate, they say, And the starter’ll have no easy job To get them well away; They’re kicking and they’re plunging, And the jocks are swearing loud, And the noise is never ceasing From the bookies in the crowd. And it’s “Any price outsiders,” shout the bookies in the crowd. They’re off! The favourite’s leading! See each bookie’s anxious face! The favourite makes the running, Oh, what a fearful pace— A flash of colour past the post, Green, blue, pink, mauve and red, And the great, big, slashing favourite Just got beaten by a head. For the little, black outsider, beat the favourite by a head.