Mrs. L. Lorèe

Are you ready for your steeplechase, Lorraine, Lorraine, Lorèe?

Barum, Barum, Barum, Barum, Barum, Barum, Baree.

You're booked to ride your Capping Race to-day at Coulterlee.

(I'm blessed if I can find the place in any "A B C.")

You're booked to ride Vindictive with an infant on your knee,

With which, no doubt, you'll turn the scale at over twelve stone three,

Barum, Barum, Barum, Barum, Barum, Barum, Baree.

She clutched the nurs'ry mantelpiece, Lorraine, Lorraine, Lorèe.

Barum, Barum, Barum, Barum, Barum, Barum, Baree!

"I cannot ride Vindictive with a baby on my knee.

How can I ride a capping-race with crêches on my knee?"

Her husband was a callous brute, and didn't care a D.

"I've backed you for a thousand pounds, and you'll stand in with me."

"Bar one, Bar one," the Bookies cried; "Bar one, Bar two, Bar three!"

She mastered Young Vindictive! Oh the crafty matron she!!

And kept him straight and won the race at 8 to 3.

And then they warned her off the Turf of festive Coulterlee.

For they found it was a golliwog she held upon her knee.

No wonder that no baby cried for Mrs. L. Loree.

Barum, Barum, Barum, Barum, Barum, Barum, Baree.