Chu custom does not cherish strength,
Wastes effort on boat races.
Buying boats awaits one race,
Racing levies bribes from the poor.
Every year in fourth and fifth months,
Silkworms mature, wheat in minor autumn.
Pooled water breaks weirs and dikes,
Uprooted rice shoots, dense reeds and weeds.
Then they gather able men,
Practice racing at south field's edge.
Mornings drink village shrine wine,
Evenings slaughter neighbors' oxen.
Worship boats like worshiping ancestors,
Practice racing like practicing vengeance.
Stretching on for tens of days,
Farmwork no longer a worry.
The lord prepares an auspicious feast,
Receives guests with fine dishes.
Painted prows converge from four sides,
Great race upon the Long River's flow.
Set markers to show choice,
Seek victory or defeat, life or death.
Once the cheers subside,
Three months of farmwork ruined.
The worthy governor of Yueyang,
Considers this a vulgar wart.
Customs are hard to fully erase,
So merely removes the worst.
Not one boat in a hundred remains,
No single race is allowed to linger.
Let it be a village game,
I also will not linger to watch.
I hear Guan Zhong taught,
Washing trees punishes idle roaming.
Curbing this excessive racing custom—
Can it be called good governance?
I come to sing of this matter,
Not solely to sing of this prefecture.
This matter exists in several prefectures,
And I wish several prefectures to hear.