Chorus—For the sound, &c.
Yes, I know Arthur Peel as a chap who won’t shirk;
But his mount of to-day is a tiger, a Turk,
And to break it to harness he’ll have all his work,
Though he leathers and spurs night and morning.
Chorus—
For the sound of its snorts and the pad of its feet
Show this buck-jumping brute is a teaser to beat,
And Peel will do well if he still keeps his seat
When Wild West-minster shuts some fine morning.