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Born in a laboratory
On American lands
The owner of it was a millionaire
I was looking forward to it
He wanted to see him, strong and healthy
But he was born with asthma
When I look at that foal
With jobs breathing
He told the vet
Go and shoot him dead
And you bury him, in the mountain
So that not a trace remains
But that vet
I just simulate the funeral
I transplant his lungs
From another light horse
And there high up in the mountains
Of the other he buried the remains
When three years passed
Not even a wisp of the sick cuaco
It was missing hands
To measure it to the second hand
Four derbies in a row
And he lacked land
When I finish with the sayings
of the american union
They ran him in Montreal
In Mexico and Italy
And he brought three crowns
From the lanes of Spain
The Lung as they call it
He has a split belly
From when the vet
It gave him hope
With bills, he has covered himself
And in Durango is his home
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