Gaining weight is a jockey's curse,
finding the answer is another verse.
"Laxative", Tom said, "me old mate",
new idea's for losing weight.
"You'll will lose four pound's,
no sweating, no running around".
So off to the Chemist I did go,
I'm giving myself a bloody good show!
Six piece's of laxative I did take,
as I had forgotten to ask, me old mate.
Boss's car - we head to the race's,
three hour's - my bowel is going through it's pace's.
Suffering from pain, hot and cold sweat's,
I didn't need Tom to tell what's next.
Boss! could you pull over at the next servo,
as I really need to go!
Tom give me a nudge and a wink,
and said, "Whadda ya think?"
"Tom", I said, "It's working", as I felt it peak,
"Boss could you pull over I did shriek!"
"Pull over now, I'm really crook!"
well she came like the babbling brook.
"Get out of my car, you bloody stink"'
Tom just smiled and said, "Whadda ya think?'