No more would we walk on the Shining Way,
’Twas pleasanter, far, to ride.
For Billy, the old white horse, was there,
He could easily carry three,
And on his back we would gaily fare
To the shores of the Sunset Sea.
So up to the orchard fence we tripped,
And Billy looked kind and mild,
And on to his back we softly slipped,
And Billy, he sort of smiled.