My horse is a gelding, not a mare,
Nonetheless, he’s got hair.
Now that the weather’s turning to fair
He sheds so much I think he’ll be bare.
I gotta say I do declare
I’ve got horsehair everywhere.
It’s over here and over there
and in my teeth and underwear.
If I could make it something rare
I’m sure I’d be a millionaire,
Drinking vin not ordinaire
And eating pricey Camembert
Or even cheesy old Gruyère.
As I sit here spitting in my chair
I tell myself not to despair
But face each spring well aware
That I’ll have horsehair everywhere.