(Difford/Tilbrook)  



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