Dermy's Fast Track Victory

He's the rocket in the traps, he's the terror of the bends. The bookies see

his name up here and start praying for their ends. Oh,

Dermy's out in front again. Tail like a windmill going mad. If you're back

to other runners, well, lads, that's just sad. We're Duffin's army,

in the rain or in the sun. He might not pay his license

but he always gets the run. From Shelburne to the kingdom, every stand begins

to shake. You'd swear the dog was smuggling a jet engine in his flanks.

So raise your pints and voices high for Ireland's fastest lad.