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Poor old horse

from 52 Folk Songs: white by Phil Edwards

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lyrics

Oh, it is a poor old horse that's come knocking at your door,
And if you please to let me in I'll please you well, I'm sure;
But my legs have grown so old from running so many a mile,
Over hedges, over ditches, over fancy gates and stiles,
Poor old horse.

Once I was a young horse and in me youthful pride,
Me master used to ride on me and thought me very fine.
But now I've grown so old, my nature does decay,
My master he looks down on me and this I've heard him say,
Poor old horse.

Once all my feeding was the best of corn and hay
That ever in the fields did grow or in the meadows gay;
But now I've grown so old and scarcely can I crawl,
I'm forced to snap at the shortest grass that grows along the wall,
Poor old horse.

Once all in in the stable I was kept so fine and warm,
To keep my limbs from aching and to spare me from the storm
But now I've grown so old, to the fields I have to go,
To face any kind of weather, be it rain or frost or snow.
Poor old horse.

Oh you've eaten all my hay and you spoiled all my straw,
You're neither fit to ride upon nor are you fit to draw,
You are old, you are cold, you are lazy, dull and slow,
So he'll hang him, whip him, stick him, to the huntsman let him go,
Poor old horse.

My hide to the huntsman so freely will I give,
And my body to the hounds - I’m sure I’d rather die than live,
And bury my old bones under yonder ground
Never more to be spoken of in all the country round.
Poor old horse.

The man who shod this horse, sir,
He was no use at all,
He used to worry the blacksmith,
Hammer and nails and all.

credits

from 52 Folk Songs: white, released December 5, 2011
Phil Edwards - vocals, melodica, D whistle
Tune: The Man in the Moon
Image: Knobbin, the Wild Oss of the Dorset Knobs Mummers

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Phil Edwards Manchester, UK

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