BULLY OLD HORSE.
Tune- " Stokes' Verdict"
Words by Richard J. Pigott.
Maud S. is considered the best on the turf
By sporting men, newspapers, too;
But I've got a boodle that says she is not,
And prove it, I will unto you.
Right here in New York dwells a poor millionaire-
A grocer-we know him, of course;
Well, he is the dandy that owns the mare's peer,
Which he christened the Bully Old Horse.
He can go like the wind-down a hill-if he's pushed,
Or when charged with electrical force;
He's been used as a hat-rack by boys in the street,
Has this wonderful Bully Old Horse.
He is fast when he's tied, but is faster, I'm sure,
When he goes without food for a week;
A knot must be made of his tail, or, I'm told,
Through his collar he'll go like a streak.
He lost all his teeth years ago, I have heard,
While trying to eat stable doors;
The Herald or Times can be read through the ribs
Of the photo, called Bully Old Horse.-Chorus.
The stall which he sleeps in is padded with bricks,
For fear he might injure his bones;
His bedding, indeed, is exceedingly fine,
Being mud, mixed with rare precious stones.
He gets shaved twice a week with a bale-stick or club,
Which makes him feel happy, of course;
He can wink with his ears, and sling ink with his heels,
Can this nondescript, Bully Old Horse.-Chorus.