The Ballad of three Horses.
Posted: Mon Aug 01, 2016 12:31 pm
THE BALLAD OF THREE HORSES.
Now here’s a tale you Aussie blokes will understand quite well.
You’ve been bewitched so many times and cast beneath its spell.
Your darling wife, Three Horses, pulls from out her magic bag
the meaning of her nickname, yes that constant nag, nag, nag.
You try to keep out of its reach but cop it just the same
‘cause if there’s something gone amiss you get the flamin’ blame.
You never sweep or mop the house or wash the dishes right
and man that odd jobs list she has is quite a frightening sight.
You try to pacify her with the “Yes dear, no dear!” ploy,
but cottons on and rudely says, “You childish little boy!”
But then just like a traffic light that turns from red to green …
the break and words you’ve waited for … that changes the whole scene.
“I’m going out for two hours dear and don’t you make a mess!”
The words … like ointment on a sore … and soothing I confess.
She hadn’t reached the corner and I grabbed two beers or more;
put on a Rolling Stones Cd and bopped about the floor.
For two hours I enjoyed the bliss and relived teenage years
and though the knees and hips were crook I downed a few more beers.
But all good things come to an end, Three Horses then drives in
and bellows, “Turn that rubbish off, it’s causing such a din!”
I really felt deflated but went out to lend a hand
and by the loads I carried in she must have spent a grand.
I thought I’d fin’lly pleased her, but she stands there and she sighs,
“You left the fly screen open dear, the kitchen’s full of flies!”
That’s it. I’d simply had enough and grabbed from off the wall
the fly swat and began to hunt and kill them one and all.
With accurate precision I began to go to town
and with two whacks I took them out and both the flies went down.
“Job done!” I cried, “They’re both dead now one male and female fly.”
“How can you tell their sexes?” came her loud sarcastic cry.
I thought that you knew everything and figured you’d have known
the male was on my beer can love, the female on the phone.
But fellas, let’s just face the fact, we need these girls of ours,
they’re always there when needed, they are our ivory tow’rs.
So grin and bear this foible lads that earns them this here tag,
we love our sweet Three Horses and despite their nag nag nag.
After returning home from Boondooma’s Heritage and Balladeers Muster in April I recalled a couple of yarns one of the boys told and thought I’d incorporate them into a poem. Poems happen that way.
© Merv Webster
From the book Bush Verse and Lyrics since 2005.
Now here’s a tale you Aussie blokes will understand quite well.
You’ve been bewitched so many times and cast beneath its spell.
Your darling wife, Three Horses, pulls from out her magic bag
the meaning of her nickname, yes that constant nag, nag, nag.
You try to keep out of its reach but cop it just the same
‘cause if there’s something gone amiss you get the flamin’ blame.
You never sweep or mop the house or wash the dishes right
and man that odd jobs list she has is quite a frightening sight.
You try to pacify her with the “Yes dear, no dear!” ploy,
but cottons on and rudely says, “You childish little boy!”
But then just like a traffic light that turns from red to green …
the break and words you’ve waited for … that changes the whole scene.
“I’m going out for two hours dear and don’t you make a mess!”
The words … like ointment on a sore … and soothing I confess.
She hadn’t reached the corner and I grabbed two beers or more;
put on a Rolling Stones Cd and bopped about the floor.
For two hours I enjoyed the bliss and relived teenage years
and though the knees and hips were crook I downed a few more beers.
But all good things come to an end, Three Horses then drives in
and bellows, “Turn that rubbish off, it’s causing such a din!”
I really felt deflated but went out to lend a hand
and by the loads I carried in she must have spent a grand.
I thought I’d fin’lly pleased her, but she stands there and she sighs,
“You left the fly screen open dear, the kitchen’s full of flies!”
That’s it. I’d simply had enough and grabbed from off the wall
the fly swat and began to hunt and kill them one and all.
With accurate precision I began to go to town
and with two whacks I took them out and both the flies went down.
“Job done!” I cried, “They’re both dead now one male and female fly.”
“How can you tell their sexes?” came her loud sarcastic cry.
I thought that you knew everything and figured you’d have known
the male was on my beer can love, the female on the phone.
But fellas, let’s just face the fact, we need these girls of ours,
they’re always there when needed, they are our ivory tow’rs.
So grin and bear this foible lads that earns them this here tag,
we love our sweet Three Horses and despite their nag nag nag.
After returning home from Boondooma’s Heritage and Balladeers Muster in April I recalled a couple of yarns one of the boys told and thought I’d incorporate them into a poem. Poems happen that way.
© Merv Webster
From the book Bush Verse and Lyrics since 2005.
