The Coster's Race.

Maoriland Worker, Volume 1, Issue 4, 15 December 1910, Page 6

The Coster's Race.

(By CAMPBELL RAE-BROWN.) Yer may talk about yer races, Hurdle, Flat, and Steeplechases— 'Bout the Derby, Askit, Goodwood, all the lot; But fur jist a bit o , sport O , the good old-fashion , d sort, This beats 'em all in wot ye'd call a trot.

Wβ was on'y coster blokes, An , our "gees" was on'y "mokes"; So yer see there wasn't nothin' noways swell : But Lor' lumme, 'twor a treat To see all the bloomin' street Start off to 'Ampstead 'Eath from Camberwell !

Come'about jist like this 'ere: One day Bill was full o' beer, An' 'c thinks, in course, as 'c must 'aye 'ie say. I wor t-rottin' down the road Afore 'im wi' my load, W'en he shouts ter mc : " Git out the bloomin' way !"

I arst 'im if 'c thought As 'ow as 'c 'ad bought The ; ole, or on'y arf, the bloomin , place ? Sez he, the both on us— Mc and moke—warn't wuth a cusb ; An' it ended arter all in this 'ere race. Well, we druv there tidy fast, An' we reach'd the 'Eath at last; All our pals and little donahs stood around;

Then the donkeys was took out, An' yer should 'aye 'card the shout, As we mounted 'em and canter'd to the ground.

Now we wasn't like the rest : Wβ was goin , to try our best; We was racin' fur the glory, not the " dibs." * But there, bli'me! of the two Yer dunno yit who's who : Well, my old moke was Polly—his'n Squibs.

So the word to "Go!" was said; They shouts: "Let 'im 'aye 'is 'cad!" An' the couple on us tries to make a start; But som'ow's my old moke Didn't seem to see the joke, On'y stood and kick'd enough to break yer 'cart.

But Bill's 'ad gone all right, An' was nearly out o' sight; An' they 'ollered : " Squibs 'as won it fur a crown !'' But 1 thought I should 'aye died When my little donah cried, " Yer a liar, bloomin' Squibs is lavin' down !"

Yus, and blow mc, it wer' true; An' I tried all as I knew To git Polly up by breakin' of 'er ribs; An' at larst she give a start "Wich forc'd mc and 'er to part; Then she went and laid down longerside o' Squibs !

Yus, and there them donkeys lay All thro' the bloomin' day; An' wen we arst our pals wich one : t-d boat, They void us both to go To a spot wot's down below, An' swore enough o' red to paint a street.