Lay the filly causing a mess,
The owner is under duress;
Take that slow nag to pastures roam,
If the ambulance beats her home.
They say a new prophet is sworn,
Surely not in a stable born;
On the gallops they dance and weave,
But most of them simply deceive.
I had a bet the other day,
Expecting a mare to make hay;
But the stewards, they’ve done me in,
Mulling over their quarts of gin.
When will the punters ever learn?
Don’t back a Jolly out of turn;
For once I did, down on my luck,
And ended up without a buck.
And still the circle never ends,
A bookie never once pretends;
When he chalks up they all come back,
Hypnotised by his taut tic-tac.
Why’s the plate passed around the floor?
Inside info, that’s what it’s for!
You’re in profit, God knows the score,
So leave me your tips at the door!
© 2017 AGP