| You can sing of all your sport’n hero’s
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| Like Mr. (McGranderas)
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| But there’s a horse in the county of Wicklow
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| That’s beaten all of the best
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| The slowest humper, the lowest jumper
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| The great for a straw 'round the park
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| The servant lasses, the upper classes
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| And daughters of millionaires
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| They all appear from far and near
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| For a ride on Ronnie’s mare
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| For a ride on Ronnie Drew’s mare
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| In (Graystone's) town on a Sunday morning
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| A crowd will always appear
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| To catch a glimpse of the famous mare
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| They call the horse of the year
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| She’s the best at racin', but sees no disgracin'
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| In pulling a big old wee cart
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| In the (Bardeby) bar boys talked of the horse show
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| One said she ought to be showed
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| She was (chiltered) and trained by the two Heaven’s boys
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| And the grass by the side of the road
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| Though she won 'm in Dublin without any troublin'
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| Next day she was back in the cart
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| Joe Sweeny the puncher suggested one day
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| They should enter her in for a race
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| So all was arranged, Billy Fox would be jockey
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| And New Castle would be the place
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| But the boys all agreed it, even if she succeeded
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| She’d go back to deliverin' milk
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| Well, the boys where there to lay out the ready’s
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| And cheer the horse past the post
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| But when Fox had a look at the competition
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| He tottened as white as a ghost
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| We’ll have some hassle to beat Willy Castle
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| Says Ronnie «(fuck you sake)»
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| The race it was tough, but the mare she was flyin'
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| They knew that she couldn’t loose
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| But in the midst of the celebrations
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| Arrived some tragic news
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| In her finest hour all the milk had gone sour
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| So now she was out of a job |