It happened in the springtime
in the year of sixty -four
He beat them on the hollows,
he beat them on the bunks
And a pair of fancy fetlocks
he shoved them on the jumps
Because he's English, he's English,
he's English as the Queen
A little bit of Arab stock,
but more from Stephen's Green
Take one look at Millhouse,
throw out your chest with pride
in the English countryside
Till a quiet man named Draper,
living in the Emerald Isle
But I've a little fellow,
and then we'll play the game
Those racing English gentlemen,
they laugh too fit to boast
You tried before, Tom Draper,
and then you came off worst
You think your horse could beat us?
Why, that's blarney and romance
It's Milhouse that you're up against,
and you haven't got a chance
Be cause he's English, he's English,
he's English as the Queen
A little bit of Arab stock,
but more from Stephen's Green
Take one look at Milhouse,
throw out your chest with pride
He's the greatest steeplechaser
in the English countryside
Empire fed and empire fed,
Arkham now is five to two,
They're off, and dear believe I do,
There are other horses in the race
to test the great chap's might
But dearie me, it's plain to see
the rest are out of sight
Because he's English, he's English,
he's English as the Queen
A little bit of Arab stock,
but more from Stephen's Green
Take one look at Milhouse,
throw out your chest with pride
The greatest steeplechaser
in the English countryside
Three more fences still to go,
he leads by twenty lengths
Bray Markel's putting on a show,
poor chap, he's almost spent
Mil house sleeps on majestically,
great glory in each stride
The greatest horse, undoubtedly,
Because he's English, he's English,
he's English as the Queen
A little bit of Aristotle,
but more from Stephen's Green
Take one look at Milhouse,
throw out your chest with pride
He's the greatest steeple -chaser
in the English countryside
our cook comes cutting down the wheat
But it's over by the shouting,
They're on the run up to the last,
oh Lord, can he hold out?
Look be hind you, Willie Robertson,
They're on the last and over,
Pat Taffer's mould in hand
He's past England's millhouse,
Oh Lord, he has us beaten,
what can the English say but
Oh yes, he's Irish, he's Irish
That little horse called Arco
He's the finest you have seen
And he gave an Irish burst
The day that England came in second
4.9
