I used to ride around on them, 
When I was just a kid;
I bet that all the neighbour's lads
Were wishing that they did.

I sat their backs cross-legged,
A long way off the ground;
And had a most teriffic time,
As we were led around.

They are so quiet and trusty,
A truly noble breed;
And I believe, in days of old,
Knights used them as a steed.

They never seem to tire out,
And after working hard,
They seem to just enjoy a run,
Around the saddling yard.

Their favourite treat was pumpkin,
Which they would chomp at night;
They could be heard a long way off,
Each time they took a bite.

I knew a one armed farming man,
Who always used to state,
That his old "Bess", his cart horse,
Was his only real true mate.

He'd go to town each Saturday,
To shop, or pay a bill;
And then he'd go down to the pub,
To slowly drink his fill.

And then, when he had drunk too much,
He'd climb up on the cart,
And as his backside hit the seat,
Bess, for home, would start.

Quite often, when the horse took off,
He'd fall back in the cart;
But Bess would keep on running,
She would always play her part.

And when she reached the farmyard,
She'd stand quite still and wait, 
Until he sobered up enough,
To open up the gate.

And if Bess didn't want to go,
To town with him to shop, 
She'd wade into the river there,
And in mid stream she'd stop.

The poor old bloke would then wade in,
To bring her to the cart;
But then he'd have to dry himself,
And change, before they'd start.

And so here ends this lively tale,
Of a horse both bright and clever;
And tell me, could a tractor take
Him home like that?.....NO NEVER.