Thanks and praises. Thanks to Jesus. I bet on the Bottle of Smoke. I went to hell. And to the races. To bet on the Bottle of Smoke. The day being clear. The sky being bright. He came up on the left. Like a streak of light. Like a drunken fuck. On a Saturday night. Up came the Bottle of Smoke. Twenty fucking five to one. Me gambling days are done. I bet on a horse called the Bottle of Smoke. And my horse won. Stewards inquiries. Swift and fiery. I had the Bottle of Smoke. Inquisitions and suppositions. I had the Bottle of Smoke. Fuck the stewards. A trip to Lourdes. Might give the old fuckers. The power of sight. Screaming springers and stoppers. And call out coppers. But the money still gleams in my hand like a light. Bookies cursing. Cars reversing. I had the Bottle of Smoke. Glasses steaming. Vessels bursting. I had the Bottle of Smoke. Slip a fifty to the wife. And for each brat a crisp new five. To give me a break on a Saturday night. When I had the Bottle of Smoke. Priests and maidens. Drunk as pagans. They had the Bottle of Smoke. Sins forgiven and celebrations. They had the Bottle of Smoke. Fuck the Yanks. And drink their wives. The moon is clear. The sky is bright. I'm happy as the horses shite. Up came the Bottle of Smoke.