A bushranger was in need of a fast horse.
Normally he would have stolen one of course.
But this time he heard about a really fast thoroughbred.
Which was owned by a minister of the church instead.
He could not steal from a man of God thought the hellion.
So for once he would have to pay for a racy stallion.
He looked over the horse, while talking to the vicar in the stable.
This horse would be fast, to keep him from the law, it would be able.
Settling on a fair price, the horse now belonged to the outlaw.
But when he swung onto the saddle he discovered a flaw.
The horse would not move, kicking and swearing, no way.
The vicar sat there laughing, To move him, 'Good Lord', you say.
When you want him to stop 'amen' is the magic word.
Our outlaw rode away after saying his 'Good Lord'.
The horse began to canter fast across the plain.
What was that word for stop, the vicar told, again.
The edge of the plain was formed by an 80-foot drop.
How the hell was he going to make this horse stop.
God, Devil, Satan, Stop, Halt, he could not remember.
Thinking about the time he'd been taught a prayer last September.
Amen, he yelled loud, the horse stopped at the rim.
He had to fight to stay in the saddle, or it would have thrown him.
His hands tight on the monkey strap, or he would have been maimed.
Recovering from his fright, he wiped his brow, Good Lord he exclaimed!
Augustus Venselaar