Why do I like horses? I reckon I must be mad.
My mother wasn’t horsey - And neither was my dad.
But the madness hit me early – and it hit me like a curse.
And I’ve never gotten better. In fact…I’ve gotten worse.
My stables are immaculate. My house is like a hovel.
Last year for my birthday - I got a brand new shovel.
I hardly read a paper - but I know who’s sold their horse
And I wouldn’t watch the news – unless Mr. Ed was on - of course.
One eye’s always on the heavens - but my washing waves in vain
As I rush to get the horses in - in case it’s gonna rain.
And though they’re wearing 15 rugs, The best that you can get,
I bring them in to keep them dry - while I get soaking wet.
I spend up every cent I’ve got - on horsey stuff for sure.
I buy fancy rugs and fancy rugs, and then I buy some more.
I should have had that hair cut - or bought that nice blue shirt
At least it wouldn’t be now - ripped to shreds and in the dirt.
I can’t make a bloody sponge cake - I don’t even try
But I can back a car and trailer - in the twinkling of an eye.
It’s jeans and R.M. boots that I live in night and day
And that smell of sweaty horses just doesn’t wash away.
Once every now and then I dress up for a ball.
Make up and a hairdo - with high heel shoes and all.
I ache from long forgotten falls. My knees have got no skin.
My toes have gone a funny shape - from being squashed again.
But late at night, when all is still - and I’ve gone to give them hay,
I touch their velvet softness and my worries float away.
They give a gentle nicker and they nuzzle through my hair
And I know it’s where my heart is - more than anywhere.
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