All the best to Amos for a speedy recovery!

The following is to the tune of a song about dog-racing, (wrong species, I know, but who cares!) and which is associated with the town, Lurgan, in whose hinterlands is to be found the townland of Derrymacash, "Master McGrath".

Me name's Zippy Chippy, but sadly my name
Belies the cruel fact that my chief claim to fame
Is that "zippy" is something I sadly am not
My gallop is slower than most horses' trot

In each race I've entered I've finished the course
After the post has been passed by each horse
I'm gracious defeated, I don't stomp or pout
Or rear up on my hind legs like some other mounts

I know I'm a burden, I know I'm a drain
My owner is kindly, he never complains
With my lack of success he cannot be pleased
'Bout my lack of success he is tortured and teased

Zippy, he said, my options are few
I've done all I can to stay faithful to you
But times they are hard, and my money is low
And soon to the knacker I must bid you go

We pondered in silence this prospect so grim
His bitter tears coursed from his cheek to his chin
"Ah Zippy", he said, "we've shared many a load
But now, I'm afraid, it's the end of the road"

My life flashed in front; my days as a foal,
Then out with my trainer for a mid-morning stroll
The crush in the paddock, the roar of the crowd
As the pack hits the straight on the last lap around

"Oh, master," I said, "if you bet house and land
On my winning a race and it all went to plan
And the bookie paid odds of say, fifteen-to-one
How would you treat me if, let's say, I won?"

"Oh Zippy," he said, "for the rest of your days
You could kick your oul' heels, you would live at your aise
In pastures where grass grows so lush and so green
You could live out your life like the mount of a queen"

"Well, bedammit," I says, "d'ye mind that oul' brag
Who said he would take on any oul' nag?
Take up his challenge, I won't let you down
This time oul' Zippy will garner the crown!"

The bookie he sneered when asked what's the odds
He laughed at my owner and snarled "Holy God!
That bag of oul' bones! Take heed of my tip
Don't go puttin' no money on oul' Zippy Chip"

But when pushed to declare, he gave us fifteens
And my man bet the very extent of his means
And we lined up to race, he couldn't bear look
But I flew like the wind from the first step I took

Away like white lightning I ran from the start
I ran straight and true, I was just like a dart
The crowd they were willing me home to the post
And I wiped the floor with that dirty oul' boast!

In pastures of plenty I roam wild and free
No horsey was ever more feted than me
Forget your oul' Arkle, forget your Red Rum
I'm a national hero for decades to come