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The
Galloping
Whip
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If
life
is
a
business,
existence
is
fun,
When
duty
and
pleasure
and
sport
are
in
one,
And
so
he
wears
ever
a
smile
on
his
lip,
'tis
a
labour
of
love
to
the
Galloping
Whip.
Chorus
Tally ho! Tally ho! Tally ho!
Hark for'ard good hounds, Tally ho!
The
moon
of
September's
his
life
in
the
morn,
When
there's
cubs
to
be
killed
and
they've
carried
the
corn,
The
moon
of
December
is
last
for
the
trip,
As
home
with
the
pack
goes
the
Galloping
Whip.
For
hours
never
vex
him
nor
work
ever
tire,
That
strapper
exists
on
a
framework
of
wire,
He'll
go
without
sup
and
he'll
go
without
sip,
From
daylight
to
dusk
will
the
Galloping
Whip.
The
vis
of
bold
Reynard
is
shaped
on
his
mug,
As
wide
as
an
oxer,
as
deep
as
a
jug,
That
picture
was
fashioned
to
scream
and
to
nip
And
the
bumpers
are
out
for
the
Galloping
Whip.
The
last
to
leave
cover,
he'll
cheer
on
the
pack,
Twenty
couple
are
out
and
away
with
a
crack,
In
a
mile
he
has
given
the
fastest
the
slip,
And
the
wind
from
their
sails
takes
the
Galloping
Whip.
When
we're
jammed
in
a
corner
the
timber
too
strong,
The
bullfinch
too
thick
and
our
courage
all
gone,
He'll
give
us
a
lead
and
over
he'll
flip,
But
it's
little
improved
by
the
Galloping
Whip.
Does
he
ride
for
repute
now
as
high
as
a
head,
He
works
for
his
huntsman
and
works
for
his
bread,
Wherever
he
steers
men
are
glad
for
the
trip,
And
the
bruisers
delight
in
the
Galloping
Whip.
Ever
sparing
of
race
and
indulging
of
youth,
His
cheer
if
it's
faulty,
gets
forard
to
truth,
But
a
rioter
determined
will
never
outstrip,
The
swift
venging
thong
of
the
Galloping
Whip.
They've
run
twenty
minutes
as
close
as
a
wedge
By
jove
they
have
split,
there's
two
lines
by
the
hedge,
Old
Regent
is
right
up
the
furrow
they
rip,
And
around
swing
the
rest
with
the
Galloping
Whip.
Again
through
the
covers
the
whip
isn't
here
Look,
a
hat's
down
the
wind,
Charles
has
him
I
swear,
And
Reynard
poor
devil
is
well
in
the
grip,
Of
white
collar
Will
and
his
Galloping
Whip.
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Site
created:
10.06.08 |
Page
updated:
05.08.10
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