Still in with a chance, each way bet slip billowing in the wind whipping the bookie smoking area where a junkie is chilling
Full of jellies you can tell and smell a pill head
The race has started
I hear tramping cavalry charging in
Bet is a sure thing, your man said
Gives good tips I know him, sound head
Soon have loads of bread
Rifling pockets like frisking battle dead
Sorting debris, pecuniary scree
For spare tin drop easy three quid in
His cup, never nods could be dead.
Alchemisland 
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