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Born and raised thoroughbred
Just like his mother mare
As a tribute to his father
They put Seven Leagues
He had the noble inside
And the nervous on the outside
Your owner in a play
I had to pay the bet
Before they shot him
He handed it in response
'Here I give you my foal
Which is all I have left'
They took him to the valley
And they started running it.
He always won on the street
How nice to see it
Their very ambitious masters
How they made money
But the world being so small
One blow played life
He wanted that rich colt
It will fit you to measure
For the mare, her mother
That she had not been defeated
There was a debt of pride
And the master said to his mare.
'Even though I know he's your son
You must not give him truce
If you don't beat him, you die
And if you beat him, come to me.'
The foal felt the blood
And shortly after the match
I let his mother win
And he went to a gorge.
He knew they could kill him.
But he killed himself first.
This is the story gentlemen
Of a mare and her foal
They don't understand grudges.
Nor do they want gold to shine
But if they know about love
Between a mother and a son
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