Racing Poems and Songs

[Old Vic]

After David Bridgewater got himself in bother this turned up on twitter ...anyone else got good racing related poems or songs

@paulmstruthers pic.twitter.com/YfGQRW6vGL

— Glenn Alcoe (@rhillsisgod) January 8, 2015

[Old Vic]

Ruby of course has his own ballad:

There’s Bethlehem and Cheltenham and Lourdes and Limerick Junction
The trip to Mejagori come up for the extra munction
Good people climb Croagh Patrick with serenity on their faces
But Ruby Walsh he saved me life below at the Galway Races.
Ruby hold her back, give her the craic and up she’ll go.

They’re under starters orders, Ted Walsh is commentating,
Ruby’s up on the favourite, she’ll take some beating
necks are craned and eyes are trained there’s fear upon their faces
There’s agony and ecstasy below at the Galway races
Hey Ruby hold her back, give her the craic and up she’ll go.

It’s there you’ll see gentility and sheep dressed up like mutton
There’s double barrelled names with Mulherns on old melodeons
The talk is all of tillage of silage and corn acre
I fancy Tracy Piggott in the saddle in the enclosure
Hey Ruby hold her back, give her the craic and up she’ll go

Sir John Mucksavage Smythe is there with Smurfits and O’Reilly’s
The owners and the trainers, the stable boys and jockeys
With silk around their arses getting up on rich men’s horses
The convention wives and daughters and marriages and divorces.
Hey Ruby hold her back, give her the craic and up she’ll go.

There’s Celtic helicopters land bank speculators,
Builders and developers, crocodiles and alligators
Soldiers of destiny their in the fields of frenzy
their mouths wrapped round the Lamb Of God come back for the gravy,
Hey Ruby hold her back, give her the craic and up she’ll go.

Thursday is the ladies day and the women all look smashing
Their lashing on the lipstick Philip Tracy’s all the fashion
You can see the liposuction the botox and ogmanation
Brazilian haircuts colonic irrigation,
Hey Ruby hold her back, give her the craic and up she’ll go.

And every one’s out in Salthill for the craic and for the porter
There’s bookies making odds on two flies walking up the wall
There’s folk and trad there’s disco karaoke and set dances
While some of us who seen better days were looking to take our chances
Hey Ruby hold her back, give her the craic and up she’ll go.

Their galloping down the back straight, he has her in the canter
A look at her up the jumps be Gad, she’s like a ballet dancer
Over the last she hits the front the other one’s going to pass her
Winner alright it’s up Kildare, follow me up to Carlow
Hey Ruby hold her back, give her the craic and up she’ll go.
Hey Ruby hold her back, give her the craic and up she’ll go

[Old Vic]

as does Ted

AH 10000 Irish Punters
CROSSED OVER THE IRISH SEA
THEY BOOKED UP EVERY HOSTEL
AND HOTEL AND B AND
TO CHELTENHAM IN PLANES
AND CARS AND TRAINS AND MIGHTY SHIPS
MAD TO PUNT IN THE NATIONAL HUNT
SEARCHIN HIGH AND LOW FOR TIPS
THEY WERE MAD TO PUNT IN THE NATIONAL HUNT
SEARCHIN HI AND LOW FOR TIPS

WELL THEY MET TED WALSH AND ASKED HIM
For a surefire winning tip
as always ted obligingly
shot straight from the hip
he gave the boys a winner
they asked him how he knew
sure didn’t i ride her mother
when she was only two
oh begod i rode her mother
when she was only two

well the bookies took a haircut
teds tip had left them sore
and the Cheltenham roar was louder
than it ever was before
and in the winners enclosure
there was a great TO-DO
FOR THE HORSE whose mother
Ted had rode when she was only two
Oh begod i rode her mother
When she was only two

After a week in Cheltenham
The Irish all came back
A week of mighty punting
A week of mighty crack
And all the costs were covered
By teds tip begod it’s true
Oh thank god he rode her mother
When she was only two
Oh thank god he rode her mother
When she was only two

In Fairyhouse or Chepstow
In Aintree or in Ayr
If your luck is out in Galway
And you Haven’t got a prayer
If you’re feelin’ down in Punchestown
Here’s what you need to do
Look out for the one whose mother Ted
Rode when she was only two
Oh Begod he rode her mother
When she was only two
Oh Begod he rode her mother
When she was only two

[Old Vic]

Arkle has his own back in the day

It happened in the spring-time of the year of sixty four,
When Englishmen were making pounds and fivers by the score
He beat them in the hollow and he beat them on the bumps
A pair of fancy fetlocks he showed them o’er the jumps.

He’s English! He’s English! As English as you’ve seen
A little bit of Arab stock and more from Stephen’s Green
Take a look at Mill House and throw out your chest with pride
He’s the greatest steeplechaser on the English countryside.

Then a quiet man called Dreaper livin’ in the Emerald Isle
Said “That horse of yours called Mill House surely shows a bit of style,
“But I’ve a little fella and Arkle is his name,
“Put your money where you put your mouth and then we’ll play the game.”

Well the English racing gentleman laughed till fit to burst,
“You tried before Tom Dreaper and then you came off worst,
“If you think your horse could beat us you’re runnin’ short on brains
“It’s Mill House that you want to fight and not those beastly Danes.”

“Arkle now is five to two Mill House is money on,
“They’re off! and dear believe I do the Champion has it won,
“There are other horses in this race to test the great chap’s might
“But deary me it’s plain to see the rest are out of sight.”

“There are three more fences now to go he leads by twenty lengths
“Brave Arkle’s putting in a show, poor chap he’s all but spent
“Mill House sweeps on majestically great glory in each stride
“He’s the greatest horse undoubledy within the whole world wide.

“Two to go still Arkle comes he’s cutting down the lead,
“But he’s beaten bar the shouting for he hasn’t got the speed,
“They’re up on one up to the last my God can he hold out,
“Look behind you Willie Robinson man what are you about?

“They’re at the last and over Pat Taffe has more in hand,
“He’s passing England’s Mill House the finest in the land,
“My God he has us beaten! What can the English say?
“The ground was wrong? The distance long? Too early early in the day?”

[Old Vic]

Mark Boylan had his Kauto Star Song

[Old Vic]

The Galway races

"Galway Races"

As I went down to Galway Town
To seek for recreation
On the seventeenth of August
Me mind being elevated
There were passengers assembled
With their tickets at the station
And me eyes began to dazzle
And they off to see the races

With me wack fol the do fol
The diddle idle day

There were passengers from Limerick
And passengers from Nenagh
The boys of Connemara
And the Clare unmarried maiden
There were people from Cork City
Who were loyal, true and faithful
Who brought home the Fenian prisoners
From dying in foreign nations

And it's there you'll see the pipers
And the fiddlers competing
And the sporting wheel of fortune
And the four and twenty quarters
And there's others without scruple
Pelting wattles at poor Maggie
And her father well contented
And he gazing at his daughter

And it's there you'll see the jockeys
And they mounted on so stably
The pink, the blue, the orange, and green
The colors of our nation
The time it came for starting
All the horses seemed impatient
Their feet they hardly touched the ground
The speed was so amazing!

There was half a million people there
Of all denominations
The Catholic, the Protestant, the Jew, the Presbyterian
Yet there was no animosity
No matter what persuasion
But failte hospitality
Inducing fresh acquaintance

[Old Vic]

Best Mate

A call to arms, upon us fast,
that week in March now looms
When thousands gather for the craic,
when spring smites winter’s gloom

When stories get wheeled out again,
those great Gold Cups of old
It’s minus two without the gale,
yet no-one feels the cold


And so this year we’ll celebrate,
a recent hero’s past
A horse whose place in Cheltenham lore
not just in bronze we’ve cast

A horse who proudly holds his own
with legends of this track
A kindly horse with looks and style
and quality to match

Now factor in his entourage,
a most unlikely team
Led by a former school mistress
and harnessed by her dream

A dream she shared with Biddlecombe,
More fondly known as Terry
A dream they lived to realize,
once they’d put aside the sherry

The Owner, good Jim Lewis,
vintage Brummie through & through
His songs the only downside,
his silks Claret & Blue

The colours worn by Villa
when they last brought home The Cup
Engrained in racing folklore now,
with Jim Culloty up


They played an almost comic role,
when camera’s stopped to call
But mark me now and mark me well,
for him they gave their all

They taught Best Mate that what he had
was handed to the few
They honed his power, they understood,
they showed him what to do

And when unleashed in combat,
though she couldn’t bear to look
Preferring racecourse car parks,
where with head in hands she shook

He always brought her running
from behind the heaving stands
To welcome him, victorious,
clinging tight to Terry’s hand

Step forward Henrietta,
Racing’s first reluctant Knight
And take a bow with Terry now
for getting it so right

For giving us the memories
of a truly noble horse
Whose early death remains
the only reason for remorse

A death that robbed a nation,
but upon it we won’t dwell
Let’s celebrate the life of one
who served his sport so well

Best Mate, you never let us down,
you lived up to your name
You ran your rivals ragged,
showed ’em how to play this game

He won with ease and nonchalance;
he won with craft and style
He won the hearts of England
and the mighty Emerald Isle

He gave us what we’d waited for,
a Gold Cup crown retained
An undisputed Champion,
a King who proudly reigned

Don’t judge him upsides Arkle,
if you don’t judge man by God
But see him as a Winter King,
who never spared the Rod

Who poured it on at Prestbury Park,
with smiling Jim aboard
And left this world with three Gold Cups,
Best Mate by all adored

[Old Vic]

Royal Ascot poem by Henry Birtles http://www.henrybirtles.co.uk/caught-on-camera

[Old Vic]

Arkle

[Old Vic]

The Derby Brian Blessed

[mayo]

AP has this one

Year 2013
7th November
A momentous occasion
A day to remember!

Thursday at Towcester
Ten past three
The world of racing
Is waiting to see.

Holding their breath
The outcome’s a mystery
The time has arrived
A moment in history.

The day before
He stayed in his seat
He’d have to wait
For his ‘Mission Complete’

But his day would come
Very soon
With his new best friend
‘Mountain Tune’.

A Milestone
Standing alone
The greatest racer
Ever known.

His mind tested
Years of pain
Putting his body
Through so much pain.

Unsurpassable achievement
The best there’s ever been
The greatest jockey
The planet has seen!

Unbelievable!
What a career
4000 moments
A Genius without fear!

Poem by Gary Steer of thesportslyricist.co.uk

[mayo]

and I suppose this qualifies


Lovely Listowel
by Brian McMahon



Oh, Puck may be famous and Galway be grand,

And the praise of Tramore echo down through the land,

But I'll sing you a ballad and beauty extol,

As I found it long'go in the Town of Listowel.


I've been to Bundoran, I've rambled to Bray

I've footed it to Bantry with beautiful Bay,

But I'd barter their charms, I would 'pon me soul,

For the week of the Races in lovely Listowel.



There were Bookies and Bagmen and Bankers and all,

Biddy Mulligan was there with a green-coloured shawl,

And a cute little boy pitching pence in a bowl,

Took me down for a crown in the Town of Listowel.



Beyond on the course there was silk flashing past,

The unfortunate horse that I backed he came last,

When he ran the wrong way sure I lost my control,

And I prayed for his trainer and Lovely Listowel.




On, night time, how are you - the night sure 'twas day,

And the stars in the sky they looked down in dismay,

And they sez to the moon then in accents so droll,

"You're done, for the sun shines tonight on Listowel."



They came from Castleisland, they came from Tralee,

And a good lookin' gentleman came from Figi,

We'd a Dutchman, a German, a Swede and a Pole,

Sure 'twas more like Geneva than Lovely Listowel.




My rhyming is over, God bless those who heard,

So I'll take to the road like a migratin' bird,

But before I depart, well you all must pay toll,

So three cheers for the Races and Lovely Listowel.

[mayo]

Shocking omission ��

[Diamond Geezer]

Few more from Henry Birtles on here

http://www.henrybirtles.co.uk/racing-poems