Horace was a horsefly, such a happy little bloke,

Living upon a farm where life was sweet;

Seven well-fed horses ploughing, straining in the yoke,

Everyone was happy, loads to eat.

Then the sky refused to rain - the hay bales soon ran out,

Fields so dry it ceased to be a joke;

Hay and market crops became redundant in the drought,

All too soon poor Farmer Jones was broke.

Horses never sweat unless they work with all their might,

Dust did not need ploughing, that was clear;

All were getting skinny, and so sad, and then one night,

Horace Horsefly had a great idea!

Next day at the racetrack Horace found a likely steed,

"Only in his dreams" the race books wrote;

Odds were at five hundred but he had some inner speed,

Horace had a hundred-dollar note...

Flying to the betting ring he waved his money high,

Then the bookie opened up his bag;

"Fifty thousand dollars to your hundred, little fly,

Easy money, Fearless Fred's a nag!"

Over in the mounting yard he jumped on Freddie's back,

Hiding underneath the saddle cloth;

Someone helped the jockey up, they walked out on the track,

Starting gate sprung open, they were off!

Horace clung on tight, he'd never galloped anywhere,

Round the turn, the rails were flying past;

Then the straight, two furlongs and the finish post was there,

Fearless Fred was running slow - and last!

Timing was the secret, Horace gritted all his teeth,

Waited for the furlong post to come;

Lifted up the saddle cloth - the horse's skin beneath,

Bit with all his might on Freddie's bum!

Even now they talk about that magic bag of bones,

Flying home to win in record time;

Horace took the winnings home to poor old Farmer Jones,

No-one ever knew the horsefly's crime.

Hay for all the horses, they all thanked their little mate,

Now they had no need for rain or grass;

All had learned a lesson - anyone can change their fate,

Some just need a bite upon the ass.