Old Black Tom

My dad sold black Tom our old work-horse when he had known a better day But what happened to him after that I do not know for to say Suppose he was slaughtered for dog meat few work-horses of old age do die To say that all work-horses become children pets would be telling a lie Any way old black Tom would never have been any good as a child's pet A few nips he gave to me I never will forget Old Tom he was surely not gentle or quiet And given the opportunity he surely would bite Five out of ten for him would seem a fair score He was a good work-horse that and nothing more Not the finest equine west of Millstreet Town For Tom the old rogue horse no such a renown He was sold to a horse dealer more than three decades ago And what happened to him after I cannot say I do know.