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A Working Horse I am a heavy draft horse, I used to pull a cart, I'd pull it round the streets all day, And I'd eat and sleep and fart. I used to have a heavy load, But I would never moan, Me master sat up on the back, And cried out "Rag and Bone". We'd set out every morning, I'd be dragged out from me slumber, And I would plod those same old streets, While he called "Any old lumber". The mornings was quite easy, The Afternoons was not, Cos, the cart would start out empty And I could almost trot. But as the day got longer, And as the cart got full, I wasn't getting any younger, And it was getting hard to pull. There came a day in Clements Road, When I couldn't pull at all, We'd just picked up an Iron Bath, It had brass taps an all. Me master said I was too old, And that he was very sorry, But I was going far too slow, He would have to get a lorry. He left me in my stable, And he scrapped me ancient cart, He said I'd not walk those streets again, It darn near broke me heart. And then one day I heard him say, That something must be done, This is a business after all, Can't keep a horse for fun. A horse transporter came for me, I just calmly walked the ramp, Me master only stood and watched, I could see his eyes were damp. As we drove off I heard him call, "You've been a good old horse, Goodbye" If I wasn't such a tough old horse, You might have seen me cry. We went for miles and miles and miles, Down road and lane and track, I thought it made a pleasant change, To be riding in the back. We stopped out in the country, I could smell the fresh clean air, The ramp was gently lowered, "Come on old chap, we're there". Well I've been used to dirty streets, And the town is all I've seen, But here were other horses, And enormous fields of green. They said that this will be my home, Until the day I die, Well I won't miss that grey old town, This will do me fine says I. For now I live a life of fun, And never pull a cart, I stand out in the sun all day, And eat and sleep and fart. By John Peters
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