On the first part of the journey
I was looking at a lack of life
There were no plants or birds, just rocks and things
Female goats living like kings
The first thing I met was a goat with curved horns
And her pupils were square
My mini pony stared accusingly
Because his pen was bare.
I've been through the yard beside a pony with no name
He felt good to be out of the pen
In Hillmomba, you can't remember your name
'Cause there ain't no one who cares to give you no name.
Laa. Laa. La, la, la, laaa...
I made the mistake of asking Farmer H what we're going to name the new minipony. You'll never guess what he said! Or maybe you will, having read enough about Farmer H to float a battleship.
"He has a name."
"WHAT? He HAS a name? You didn't tell me he has a name! What is it?"
"How can you do that?"
"Well, the guy told me his name, but I don't remember it. As we were walking him across the yard to the pen, he told me his name. I just call him Red."
Seriously. You trade two goats for a splendid little minipony, and you can't even remember his name? I don't think Farmer H knows which side his bread is buttered on.