I've a little racin' mare called Sweet Marie;
And the temper of a bear has Sweet Marie.
But I've backed the mare to win, and on her I've all my tin,
So we'll take a trial spin, Sweet Marie.
Hould your hoult, Sweet Marie,
If you bolt, Sweet Marie,
Sure, you'll never win the Farmers' Cup for me;
And if YOU don't pull it through, faith, I'm done, and so are you
For I'll trade you off for glue, Sweet Marie.
Now, the colours that I chose for Sweet Marie
Were lavender and rose for Sweet Marie,
Och, but now, no thanks to you, sure I'm quite another hue,
For I'm only black and blue, Sweet Marie.
Hould your hoult, Sweet Marie,
If you bolt, Sweet Marie
Sure you'll never win the Farmers' Cup for me,
Every daisy in the dell ought to know me mighty well,
For on every one I fell, Sweet Marie.
Now we're started for the Cup, Sweet Marie,
Weight for age and owners up, my Sweet Marie.
Owners up just now I own, but the way you're waltzing roun'
Sure, 'twill soon be owners down, Sweet Marie.
Hould your hoult, Sweet Marie:
Pass the colt, Sweet Marie.
Och, you're gone and lost the Farmers' Cup for me
You're a slayer too, I find, but you're not the proper kind,
For you stay too far behind, Sweet Marie.
