A horse walks into a bar.

The Bartender says, “Why the long face?”

 

“Well,” the horse says, “it’s my life.”

“What about your life,” the bartender says, “What’s the story?”

“That’s just it,” says the horse, 

“I don’t have a story.  I’m a horse, 

And I’m like all the other horses, and all the other horses are like me.

There’s only two things a horse can do, plow a field, and pull a carriage.  

 

“You see, I’d like to wear Jordan’s, but I have hooves, not feet.

I’d like to play piano, but I don’t have thumbs.

And maybe I’d go to school if I could hold a pencil,

But the fields need plowing and the carriages pulling.

 

“Sometimes I think if God pitied anyone

It wouldn’t be me.

How am i supposed to manage

on four hooved feet?

 

“You want to know my story?

You know, maybe, If my face were shorter, 

It wouldn’t be so long.”

 

“I feel for you,” said the bartender,

“I really get what you mean,

But I don’t know what to say,

Horses are horses after all.”

 

“I guess I’ve got to get going,” 

responded the horse,

“I’ve got to plow a field and pull a carriage in the morning.”

 

A horse walks out of a bar

And the bartender takes a rag off his shoulder

He starts to polish a glass and think

How everyday in that bar, he seemed to get a bit older.

 

And as he polishes he notices 

His reflection in front of him:

A tiny man enclosed in the pint cup.

 

And he asks the man, “Why the long face?”

 

“Well,” the man says, “maybe I don’t plow fields, 

But I pour drinks.

Maybe I don’t pull carriages, 

but I clean glasses.

 

“You see, A horse is a prisoner to his hooves,

I am a prisoner to nothing but this bar.

But who is to blame but myself,

For the strongest chains are not chains at all;

Iron links may break and sever,

But a broken will shall break no further.

 

“And I’ve thought about leaving,

Buying the jordans, learning the piano. 

Hell, I’d even go to school.

But I was younger then, it’s too late now.

And even though my face is shorter, it’s still long.”