But Ikey wouldn't back him for a bob;
Because he said he reckoned he was stiff,
And all the books was layin' six to four.
Well, anyhow, before the start, the news
Got round that this here amateur was stiff,
And our good stuff was blued, and all the books
Was in it, and the prices lengthened out,
And every book was bustin' of his throat,
And layin' five to one the favourite.
So there was we that couldn't win ourselves,
And this here amateur that wouldn't try,
And all the books was layin' five to one.
So Smithy says to me, `You take a hold
Of that there moke of yours, and round the turn
Come up behind Enchantress with the whip
And let her have it; that long bloke and me
Will wait ahead, and when she comes to us
We'll pass her on and belt her down the straight,
And Ikey'll flog her home, because his boss
Is judge and steward and the Lord knows what,
And so he won't be touched -- and, as for us,
We'll swear we only hit her by mistake!'
And all the books was layin' five to one.
Well, off we went, and comin' to the turn
I saw the amateur was holding back
And poking into every hole he could
To get her blocked, and so I pulled behind
And drew the whip and dropped it on the mare --
I let her have it twice, and then she shot
Ahead of me, and Smithy opened out
And let her up beside him on the rails,
And kept her there a-beltin' her like smoke
Until she struggled past him pullin' hard
And came to Ike; but Ikey drew his whip
And hit her on the nose and sent her back
And won the race himself -- for, after all,
It seems he had a fiver on the Dook
And never told us -- so our stuff was lost.
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