My Red Horse

A rollicking, metaphor-laced narrative that blends outlaw humor with a cautionary tale, all wrapped in a rhythmic, country-blues cadence.
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Lyrics:
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I was traveling along with my Red Horse
Drinking a lot and riding, of course.
Right hand on the reins; left one on the bottle.
The more I drank … the harder I throttled.
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I got pulled over by a white Mustang.
Used his radio to call his whole gang.
They restrained my hands behind my back.
The man told me that his name was Jack.
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They locked me in a room back on his farm.
Said they locked me up to keep me from harm.
I had a drunk roommate; his name was Joe.
Said he planned to escape with a Bronco.
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I was traveling along with my Red Horse
Drinking a lot and riding, of course.
Right hand on the reins; left one on the bottle.
The more I drank … the harder I throttled.
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Joe passed out and left me alone with my thoughts.
I was mad for letting myself get caught.
I looked through the hole below the dead bolt.
Outside, running up, was a little Colt.
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The Colt was shiny black, as cute as could be.
Playing around and living its life carefree.
Jack came riding up, he had a brown Pinto.
It was not as nice as his Mustang though.
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I was traveling along with my Red Horse
Drinking a lot and riding, of course.
Right hand on the reins; left one on the bottle.
The more I drank … the harder I throttled.
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I think next time, riding through the sticks.
I’ll drive slower, hope to avoid these hicks.
It sure was cold, in the room, on that farm.
The folks have little couth and zero charm.
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The next day they let me go on my way.
I paid a big fine; they said have a nice day.
I got my Red Horse and I headed out.
Next time I’ll be taking another route.
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I was traveling along with my Red Horse
Drinking a lot and riding, of course.
Right hand on the reins; left one on the bottle.
I left quickly, didn’t take time to dawdle.
But I did take it easy on the throttle.
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Photo is AI generated.