Bartleby Horse Syndrome

Perhaps you're a race horse of high pedigree

And while running the oval decide,

Runnings not for me

You think ... 

I heard the gun and went off like a shot

But discovered soon after

I would prefer not

Trotting or walking at my own pace

Without pressure or whip

I choose dignified grace

Heels in my sides don't bother me

The rider in saddle

I can jettison he

No applause, no purse, nor ribbon of praise

Can make me, fake me, 

Into running that race

I would prefer not to, is my choice for today

And if you don't like it, 

Go eat grey hay

Green pastures for me, and the sky above

You can not make me or break me

It's freedom I love

Say what you will, waste your breath if you must

I would prefer not give in 

To your money lust

I would prefer not

I would prefer not

I would prefer not

I won't, nay I won't

Says me