Clarence Michael James Stanislaus Dennis
The Oil From Bill Shane - Poem by Clarence Michael James Stanislaus Dennis
I got the oil: too right. A cove called Shane.
Yes; ole Bill Shane. You've 'eard of 'im, of course.
Big racin' 'ead. There's no need to explain
The things he don't know about a 'orse.
Good ole Bill Shane. They say he's made a pile
At puntin'. Shrewd! I wis I 'ad 'is brain.
An' does 'e know the game? Well, I should smile.
They can't put nothin' over ole Bill Shane.
Yes; Shane, Bill Shane ... Aw, listen, lad. Wake up!
Why everybody's 'eard of ole Bill Shane.
They say he made ten thousan' on the Cup
Last year, an' now he's got the oil again.
Wot? Owner? Trainer? Nah! Who 'eeds their guff?
Bill's a big racin' man - a punter. See?
Top dog. I alwiz sez wot's good enough
For ole Bill Shane is good enough for me.
Yes; he gave me the oil. I got it straight
Well, nearly straight. Of course, I've never spoke
To Bill 'imself direck. I got a mate
Wot knows a bloke wot knows another bloke
Wot's frien's with Shane, an' so - you un'erstand.
Wot? me give you the tip? Aw, take a walk!
Yeh think I'd do a thing so under'and?
Bill Shane would kill me if I was to talk.
Well, listen ... Now, for gosh sake, keep it dark.
An' don't let no one know it came from Shane.
Keep it strick secret. I would be a nark
To let you chuck yer money down the drain ...
Wazzat you said? He's scratched? 'Ere! Lemme look!
Scratched! Ain't that noos to knock a man clean out?
I alwiz said this puntin' game was crook ...
Who? Shane? Aw, I dunno. Some racin' tout.
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