You are walking down the street,
Mildly cursing at the heat,
And a friend you chance to meet
      Walking up;
Unsuspiciously you pause,
And with not apparent cause,
He jaws an' jaws an' jaws
      About the Cup.

It's the Cup, the Cup, the Cup.
"Wot's yer fancy fer the Cup?"
"Got no chance, 'e ain't my fancy" --
"Ain't a decent rider up" --
"Straight, I got 'im in a double --
Ten to one?  'Tain't worth the trouble."
So they boast and blare and bubble
      Of the Cup.

In the eating-house at lunch
Ev'ry sporting group and bunch
Talk between each bit they munch,
      And each sup.
Hardly have the time to eat --
"Tell ye, he'll be hard to beat,"
So they babble and bleat
      Of the Cup. 

It's the Cup, the Cup, the Cup.
"Wot yer backin' fer the Cup?
'Im!  Why, blime, ev'ry time 'e
Starts 'e has to chuck it up!"
Thus they chatter ev'ry minute,
And I don't care what will win it.
For I don't know one horse in it --
      In the Cup.

There's no safety in retreat.
In the office, in the street,
Every blessed man you meet
      Brings it up
On the train and on the ear,
On the corner, in the bar,
Here and there, and near and far,
      It's the Cup.
It's the Cup, the Cup, the Cup.
It's the ---
      Oh, d--n the Cup!

"T. O'Ruddy"
The Gadfly, 23 October 1907, p1513