Upon the shining harness not a smirch you can detect,
The very brutes they seem to feel it is the first of May,
And I'm to be Queen o' the Dray, mother, I'm to be Queen o' the Dray.
Upon the barrels I'll sit perched, the barrels all so full
Of smashing stuff they sell for beer, and give you the long pull.
My Robin rarely touches beer—for 'Rum's my drink,' he'll say—
But I'm to be Queen o' the Dray, mother, I'm to be Queen o' the Dray.
Through Lime-street, Lord-street, we'll parade each leading thoroughfare,
While the spectators rival teams and turn-outs will compare,