Racing for punters

Having four legs doesnt mean
That we race
Its man again
What is the swindling pace
Of training up horses
Putting them through
Crippling regimes
And trying to do
The opposite really
Torture and pain
We suffer in silence
In the sun and the rain
Managed by those people
Who think that they
Can make some big bucks
At the end of the day

We are just slaves
Acquired by the rich
most of them really are sons of a bitch
Expecting that we run our arses off And
Earn them a ransome
Thats what is planned
When we lose, deprivation
Is what we get
When we win thats not often
And covered in sweat
Our legs weak and painful
We suffer a lot
Many legs broken
So many have got
All sorts of problems
And its getting worse
Its the jackpot the stack
The accumulation
We don’t enjoy freedom
Not any more
Once we were wild
But now we are sure

Its rigorousness
And thats every day
A strong hand and discipline
Coming our way
The food that we get
Can be mouldy as hell
Theres a lot of bad luck
And often they sell
So its off to another
More changes more guilt
Training its raining
Until we want to wilt
Give up the exercise
All of this strain
And the races
They put us in time and again

Flat racing is hard
but over the sticks
Thats when the stress
Levels knock us for six
The nutrition today
And the weakening way
This glyphosate works
At the end of the day
It weakens our legs
And makes them so sore
Being asked to run fast
And leap and whats more
Win all the races
Be out in front
Earn the big bucks
We are more than a punt

The Glyphosate’s used
As a dessicant they
Dry off the cereals
And, that does pay
Premiums really
No mold about
A much higher margin
And Nutrition, they flout

And more of us suffering
Weaker by far
We bleed from our nostrils
Our Bodies they scar
Our legs Are much weaker
Minerals they
Are Not up to scratch
At the end of the day,
And its all about money
And gambling here
So many fools lose their dosh
Every year
And so many of us horses as well
Are broken and killed
And end up in HELL

I am suffering so
The joints are so tight
those jockeys they kick us
About yes at night
A smack in the face
Is nothing to me
Having run like the clappers
And lost so you see

So many brothers and sisters
Are dead
Sadly broken legs
Yes thats what I said
Is down to insurance
Claims every day
And just wholesale slavery
Yes Come what may