The horses all with ribands decked will walk in grand array,
The Corporation carters and their wives will have a spread,
And get their annual dinner 'neath the great Haymarket shed.
* * * * *
Good-night, dear mother, call me before the day is born;
I'd like to see the carters a-marching in the morn;
The pubs, are closing early, very early, mother dear,
So, if you've got any coppers left, just go for a quart of beer!