"Thrue for you!" Pat sings out; "them's the jockeys'll do,"
And clutching two handsful with joyous "Hurroo,"
He let fly in haste at the back of his baste,
That not likin' the taste, started off as if chased
By the ould one himself, for a good rood or two.
But Pat knew the thrick, and whenever she'd kick,
Or stop in her canther, the coals would fall thick
On her ribs and her back, till the road was asthrew
Wid best Wallsends, and Patsy's poor baste black and blue!