The Locomoke.

And of all the starters in a big field, the old iron horse will be the hottest favourite. Again he will hug the rails and romp home with the bacon, in spite of the fact that he carries the top weight. So—

When Christmas comes, pack up your bag,
And go with Nature on a “jag,”
For you have won the annual toss—
The right to ride the old iron hoss.
He's all steamed up and hissing hot,
The greatest goer of the lot;
A moke who'll never let you down,
A prad to back with every brown.
He's fast and safe and keen as mustard,
And has the field completely busted.
When Christmas comes let every bloke
Go riding with the locomoke.
He'll get you there and bring you back,
And give you value for your “jack.”
Hey-ho and toot, and toot again,
We'll go a'riding on a train,
And see the country flying past,
Not slow—oh, no—but not too fast.
Pack up your troubles, dump the lot,
And back the hoss with all you've got.
For Christmas comes but once a year
(Which isn't altogether fair),

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So when you've got the chance to ride
With Happiness at Christmastide,
Get going beau, you'll find it “oke”
A'riding with the locomoke.