He has been very mangled; the man's in a major hospital;
He was riding then blinded by flying eyesful of hoss spittle.
He fell but held the reins then felt the pain of a sprained genital;
The man rests easier* and gets wheezier*. . .anesthesia general.

The trainer had exclaimed, "That demon with a mane's a bad apple!"
It's seemin' now man's semen mightn't spout; hoof gave his nad a pull.
If he awakes, post-operation, they may give him rotten news;
He might decline to go post time or resubscribe to "Trottin' News."

He might decline to go post time or resubscribe to "Trottin' News."
He might decline to go post time or resubscribe to "Trottin' News."
He might decline to go post time or resubscribe to "Trottin' News."

He thought the trotting beast could leap into ether, like Pegasus,
Now he's fevered, and three-femured; that stalled steed gave his leg a bust.
He's short of breath, bordered on death as he snores in this hospital;
His respiration prompts precipitation as he'll toss spittle.

He's short of breath, bordered on death as he snores in this hospital;
His respiration prompts precipitation as he'll toss spittle.

He hasn't touched his lunch, a bunch of crunchy crusts and chunked haddock.
The beast, meanwhile, feasts on a pile of spuds, brunch munched in the paddock.
If he ridden a "river horse," he'd not have slipped to paw the dust;
Next time he rides, he'll take his time, astride a hippopotamus.

His lung's punctured; at this juncture, he launches a long coughin' spree;
Exudate motivates his mate. . .negotiate a coffin fee.
She's soddenly; he suddenly summons she--sans regret and hoarse--
To his bedside: "I almost died," he sighed; "I'm gonna get that horse!"

To his bedside: "I almost died," he sighed; "I'm gonna get that horse!"
To his bedside: "I almost died," he sighed; "I'm gonna get that horse!"
To his bedside: "I almost died," he sighed; "I'm gonna get that horse!"

He robs a doc and dons his togs and trods off in a uniform,
In smock befrocked, he walks and talks, this mock doc don't sound too informed,
Ill still, he mills among pill-givers; spills out of the hospital,
Hell-bent, relentless, and intent on rendering that hoss vittles.

Ill still, he mills among pill-givers; spills out of the hospital,
Hell-bent, relentless, and intent on rendering that hoss vittles.

He contemplates the hoss's fate; maybe he'll take a javelin
And stab the steed while it grabs feed, his spear annealed by anvilin',
But he's too weak to thrust in deep; the hoss's hide might parry that
Attempt to stab; perhaps he'll nab his nemesis with lariat.

But that would fail; he'd only flail; the nag's trained to a runner be
And lope away; he'll hope and pray that he's still good at gunnery.
It seemed that only yesterday he'd held the reins and sat a gee;
He haws and hems a moment then accepts the reigning strategy.

He haws and hems a moment then accepts the reigning strategy.
He haws and hems a moment then accepts the reigning strategy.
He haws and hems a moment then accepts the reigning strategy.

His aim is lame; the sight's not right; it seems, ticks off a century
To bead the nag; the steed don't lag and kicks up where it's dentury.
He lost his choppers, so he can no longer gnaw and nosh vittles,
Now rivulets of red issue from tissues from which slosh spittle.

That A.M. he'd planned mayhem; told his mate, "'Hem, got a hoss ta kill!"
P.M., he's D.O.A. in E.R. of a major hospital.


*slurred into two syllables