Tekst:
Corb Lund Horse Soldier Horse Soldier

m a wretched Englishman Routing Bonaparte at Waterloo I'm a dragoon on a dun, I'm a Cossack on the run I'm a horse soldier, timeless, through and through I?m a horse soldier

before I wanna good mount when the bugle sounds and I hear the cannons' roar I wanna be in the cavalry if they send me off to war I wanna horse in the

of justice, follow edict handed down You see these were not militia men, a-fighting for their homes Nor fathers, sons nor husbands, sire, but foreigners on loan Mercenary killers, career soldiers

They took away our dogtags, they had us grow our hair They gave us student visas when we were over there They staged us out of Hondo al este del Salvador

He's been roundin' off bolts since the age of fourteen Was that a five eighths or a nine sixteenths? He's got a metric socket that don't quite fit Well

don't believe in either But I ain't seen 'em yet and my pa ain't neither Well then I run into my favourite aunt And she says ?Corb, you still playin

horse has died My saddle horse has died and no one can provide The slightest bit of reason to encourage me to go on with this life My saddle horse has died My saddle horse

'm a wretched Englishman Routing Bonaparte at Waterloo I'm a dragoon on a dun, I'm a Cossack on the run I'm a horse soldier, timeless, through and through I'm a horse soldier

(Instrumental)