(DiffordTilbrook)



Down at the dogs the bets are placed

A wad of notes rolled in a hand

The floodlit track is center stage

For winning hounds to take the stand

In old covert coats and trilby hats

The owners swan around the place

The tic tac man throws out his arms

His thin moustache stretched on his face



Gone to the dogs the man and his life

He stands by the rail and looks at the sky

Confused by the thoughts

That stew in his mind

Alone by the track on a Saturday night



Gone to the dogs

He stands and reflects

Gone to the dogs

And has no regrets



The restaurant's full and table bets

Are taken by the girls who serve

The basket meals and German wine

Excitement mounts

The buzz is heard

The stadium is full of screams

And cigar smoke is in the air

The dogs race around on their last lap

And down the straight they chase the hare