His legs around the horse were tied,
His feet towards the heavens were spread,
He swung and bumped at every stride
And ploughed the ground up with his head!
And when they rescued him, The Trap
Had won Wargeilah Handicap!
And no enquiries we could make
Could tell by what false statements swayed
Ah John was led to undertake
A task so foreign to his trade!
He only smiled and said, `Hoo Ki!
I stop topside, I win all 'li!'
But never, in Wargeilah Town,
Was heard so eloquent a cheer
As when the President came down,
And toasted, in Colonial Beer,
`The finest rider on the course!
The winner of the Snowdon Horse!'
`You go and get your prize,' he said,
`He's with a wild mob, somewhere round
The mountains near The Watershed;
He's honestly worth fifty pound,
A noble horse, indeed, to win,
But none of US can run him in!
`We've chased him poor, we've chased him fat,
We've run him till our horses dropped,
But by such obstacles as that
A man like you will not be stopped,
You'll go and yard him any day,
So here's your health! Hooray! Hooray!'
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