  MUD in my eyes, and mud on my cheek, My hat that drips, and my boots that leak, And a voice so hoarse that I scarce can speak— That’s how I went to the Derby. A fight with a man at the station-gate, Apoplexy through being late, A score in a carriage that seated eight— That’s how I went to the Derby. Never a cab for love or oof, The dye running out of my waterproof, Through chalk and water I pad the hoof— That’s how I got to the Derby. Smashed and crushed in a crowded pen, Bruised and battered by bustling men, A lamb in a roaring lion’s den— That’s how I saw the Derby. “The favourite’s beat!” the millions cry, The next umbrella extracts my eye, And I’ve laid two thousand to one with Fry— That’s how I liked the Derby. I’ve lost my temper, I’ve lost my tin; Where is my watch—my chain—my pin? And my boots are letting the water in— That’s how I left the Derby. A couple of doctors by my bed, A block of ice on my burning head, And somehow I wish that I was dead— That’s what came of the Derby. The brokers in on a bill of sale, Pills and potions of no avail, A jerry-built tomb with a rusty rail— That’s what came of the Derby. R.I.P. on a soot-grimed stone, And under my name these words alone: “The biggest juggins that ever was known” Has gone where’s there no more Derby. |
|
