The Pony To Bet On

Past her prime and put out to pasture Our pony to bet on grows old. But in her heyday There was no filly faster Until that one fateful winter so cold. All the bookies and betters Never banked on the weather And that sick December bug in the air. The points kept on spreadin' â ~Til you called off the wedding And left me with one tired old grey mare. Now the pony to bet on Is the old nag I sit on Getting' drunk in the yard, brushing her hair. The pony to bet on, Yeah, she's a sad one But not as sad as the tears that I shed. So I walk her to bed For that slow, losing, final stretch home. Well our tarnished old loving cup is empty The wreaths of roses have withered away But the whiskey and the bullets are plenty How I wish you were here with us today. We went from trophies and triples To pullin' hayrides for cripples In small town parades down to the fair. The pony to bet on, Yeah, she's a sad one But not as sad as the tears that I shed. So I walk her to bed For two loser's final stretch home.