Ginger, on everyone's favourite
monster horse. (Sing to tune of "He's nobody's Moggie now".)
Somebody's Morgie by the western Kolvir stair
Somebody's Morgie who missed proper dragon care
Someone's favourite equine who ran clean out of luck
When he got under that dragon he was well and truly fscked.
Yesterday he burled and played in his Arden paradise
Torturing the Rangers and stomping hounds like mice
Now he's six hundred pounds of raw minced meat
That don't smell very nice
He's nobody's Morgie now.
You who love your horsie, be sure to keep him in
Don't let him argue with a dragon, it is bound to win
And upon a mountaintop, don't let him play or frolic
If you do, I'm warning you, it could be catastrophic
If the dragon tries to ride him I'm afraid that will be that
There will be one last despairing whinny and a sort of squelchy
splat
And your horsie will be slightly dead and very very flat
He's nobody's Morgie, just red and squashed and sorggy,
He's nobody's Morgie nooow.