Gold Cup day and the bookies are
Full of those old cunts with nothing
Better to do than crunch inside the place
Because of the race’s excuse; their old
Ladies having been left to wander the aisles
Of next door superstores alone, except for
The ubiquitous grandkids asking where
Granddad went to spend their treat money.
The old bugger’s got a double on
The go, and his first horse has just
Come home, so fuck granny and her
Self inflicted addiction to her first son’s
Young ‘uns; one week’s pocket money
Will be better spent should Barber Shop
Romp it and then she can shove her
Moaning up her arse as he’ll have a grand.
But the tension’s increasing in the
Turf accountant’s shed, as more fall
Through the door, or hang out the back
Smoking fags, vying to see if her Majesty’s
Horse can give them all a boost as they
Bet what little lay off money they’ve got
Left in order to show the bag at home how
Careful they’ve been not to piss it all up the wall.
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