On Friday the thirteenth
Momma gave birth to a king
Who would wander through the streets
At the tender age of three
Always at his side
Was his trusty noble steed
Her fur was black and eyes were brown
A special type of breed
She'd bark at foes and stay real close
When the young king napped on his very own throne
Or as some folks call it-the playground swing
Now the kings all grown
And he roams alone
Hoping his friend has a good long rest
With his head held high
He sees those pictures in his eyes
Of a time he'll never forget

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