 Well, all the yelping of hounds a skelping
Along the cover and out through the back.
Oh the galloping, oh the walloping, oh the cry of the Galaway Jack.
Off like a feather, he floats o'er the heather,
And Blackberry calls him a tune in his track.
There's Spot and Spider and Beauty beside her,
Then Red Rake and the rest of the pack.
Well, now they're losing him, now they're finding him,
Now they're winding him round by the stack.
Hark the hunt, to the hind we follow, and whoop and holler and for'ard and back.
Sure there's none brisker who faint cocked a whisker
Nor bustles more brisker than yonder old jack.
One more double across the stubble
And he's in trouble and tossed by the pack.
Then Brayer and Stayer are away to the stable
With jovial huntsmen the table attack.
It's meat we're munching and oats they're crunching
As bales are emptied and bottles are cracked.
Here's to the master none fairer, none faster,
To steady the ready and screw up the slack.
Here's to the hunt with your glasses a jingle,
With joy come mingle and here's to the pack.
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