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Poem	Come all ye bold trainers attend to my song, It's a rule of the A.J.C. You mustn't train ponies, for that's very wrong By the rules of the A.J.C. You have to wear winkers when crossing the street, For fear that a pony you'd happen to meet If you hear one about, you must beat a retreat -- That's a rule of the A.J.C. And all ye bold owners will find without fail By the rules of the A.J.C. The jockey boys' fees you must pay at the scale -- It's a rule of the A.J.C. When your horse wins a fiver, you'll laugh, I'll be bound, But you won't laugh so much by the time that you've found That the fee to the boy is exactly ten pound! That's a rule of the A.J.C. And all ye bold "Books" who are keeping a shop, In the rules of the A.J.C., There's a new regulation that says you must stop! That's a rule of the A.J.C. You must give up your shop with its pipes and cigars To an unlicensed man who is thanking his stars, While you go and bet in the threepenny bars -- That's a rule of the A.J.C. And all ye small jockeys who ride in a race, In the rules of the A.J.C. If owners' instructions are "Don't get a place", By the rules of the A.J.C., You must ride the horse out -- though, of course, if you do You will get no more mounts, it's starvation to you. But, bless you, you'll always find plenty to chew In the rules of the A.J.C.
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