Farrington Priest And His Money Making Machine Poem by Lindsey Priest

This is the story of one Farrington Priest,
A relation of ours who came from the south-east,
A dapper little man who wore a scarlet cravat,
A tweed hacking jacket and a feather in his hat.

He was keen on the horses and he loved to bet,
Which horse would come first and how rich he would get,
Didn’t realise it was a mug’s game, very foolish indeed,
He might find himself penniless in his hour of need.

He went to the races, as many as he could,
Was welcomed by the touts for his spending was good.
Where he got his money from, his family weren’t sure,
Not when the rest of them were really quite poor.

His father was a printer and so was his brother
Because in those days they helped one another.
What the family didn’t realise was their son, Farrington,
Had ‘borrowed’ the printer when their work was done.

He printed what he needed to bet on the races,
He printed what he needed and hid it in cases,
He printed what he needed showing all the right faces,
He printed what he needed to use in the best places.

Oh yes, he died penniless but found under his bed
Were cases of money that he’d used instead!
For money means nothing when you’re addicted to betting,
He’s one of our relations we’ll not be forgetting.