Breyerfest Anthem!

Sing to the tune of The Battle Hymn of the Republic.

(Mine Eyes Have Seen the Glory / Glory, Glory Hallelujah)

by Pamela Puamelia Zurkrow Pramuka

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There are horsies in the bedroom; there are horsies in the hall.

There are horsies in the kitchen, and believe me, that’s not all.

There are horsies in the living room and horsies on the wall

In back of the TV.

Well, they’re made of Styrene plastic, cold-cast resin, Acetate.

There’s OF’s and artist sculptures; for the latest we can’t wait.

We keep spending all our money on the things our husbands hate.

It could be something worse

Horsies, horsies we collect ‘em

Horsies, horsies we perfect ‘em.

Don’t you dare to disrespect ‘em.

We’ll quickly set you straight.

There are mares and studs and geldings, anatomically correct,

And the foals have no equipment, but they’re fillies we suspect.

There is worse we could be buying, there is worse we could collect.

Hey, it’s a harmless vice

Little Lipizzans and Arabs, Quarter Horsies, Shires and Cobs,

And some Morgans, Thoroughbreds and Fells. Why else do we have jobs?

Gotta get that latest Clydesdale; it’s a stud with purple bobs,

And put him on display

Horsies, horsies we collect ‘em

Horsies, horsies we perfect ‘em.

Don’t you dare to disrespect ‘em.

We’ll quickly set you straight.

There are Paints and Palominos and some Appaloosas, too.

There are bays and blacks and dapple grays, to mention just a few.

There are Golden Charms and woodgrains and some horsies that are blue

And worth a ton of dough.

Well, there’s tiny little saddles, little bits and bridles, too,

And the costumes and accessories will sure astonish you.

There’s performance scenes and backgrounds and some model riders who

Will win all kinds of shows.

Hey, we customize and paint ‘em, move their heads and manes and tails,

And for really major changes that epoxy never fails.

We put tiny horseshoes on ‘em shipping boots and martingales.

We’re totally obsessed.

Horsies, horsies how we love ‘em.

There’s no other toy above ‘em,

And we’ll never, ever shove ‘em

Unwrapped into a box.

Well, the shelves are overflowing and the windowsills and more.

I’ve already sold the couches, and we’re sitting on the floor.

I could thin out my collection, then get up and bar the door.

Or see what’s on Exchange.

We’re not crazy, well, not really. Oh, well maybe just a touch,

And you other folks will never understand why we’re so much

Into little plastic ponies and their names and tack and such.

We’ll never give them up.

Horsies, horsies we keep buying.

For another one we’re dying,

And tomorrow we’ll be trying

To find that rare SR.