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Buckin through the final gate and on down into Hell. Down among the willows the next January day. A tiny colt was born and it was just the way, He scambled to his feet and then began to nurse. He represented hope, that could end an awful curse, That befell our nation in the year of twenty-twenty. Times got kinda tough in the land of milk and honey. He filled up on milk, and then lay down to sleep. Nestled down by mama, he trusted she would keep, Him safe from any dangers a lurkin in the woods. Varmints can be anywhere and up to nuthin good. ....