He travels along at the top of his speed,
You might think that his life was at stake;
To beauties of nature he never pays heed,
For the record he's trying to break.
He stiffens his muscles and arches his back
As if he were still on the cinder-path track.
He races regardless of life and of limb,
Caring naught for the folk in his way;
For chickens and children are nothing to him,
And his mad career nothing can stay;