The Victories of Ancestry

We are the poorest players in the Sport of Kings.
Not being able to eat will make a man mean.
Lately I can’t seem to keep myself from questioning,
Is it worth the run through the mud just for one moment in the sun?

On these reclaimed floodplains and county fairgrounds,
As the ambulance driver keeps chasing us around,
For these poor old men who drive their pickups into town,
Is it worth us tearing up our guts just for them to have a little fun?
I hate the fat men who own the ponies
And their fat hands that hold the cash.
Fattened billfolds hold more than money.
They possess the papers and the deeds: the victories of ancestry.

But our blood is older than this country,
And yours at least is far more pure.
Together we may create beauty.
Together we may achieve something that will endure.

We were born and bred to run.
We were raised and trained to run.
We are paid and persuaded to run.
Plus the drugs they push on us to thin our blood and make us run.