MY UNCLE’S HORSE

 

My uncle had a Clydesdale,

He’d traded for a pup,

He took him down to Flemington,

To run the Melbourne Cup.

 

The crowd they were all laughing,

And even stewards too,

No one believed as uncle did,

Just what his nag could do.

 

The horses all were at the gate,

And champing at the bit,

And as the barrier went up,

The field, they had a fit.

 

They’d never seen a horse like that,

They frolicked on the ground,

No matter what the jockeys did,

No other horse was found

To run against the Clydesdale,

As he went round and round.

 

So uncle’s horse, he won the race,

And the shiny Melbourne Cup

To the North, was taken up.

The Clydesdale never raced again.

And almost always had for sup.

A manger full of oats and grain.