Verse 1
Way down south in England where the old trees grow,
There’s a forest with a story from a thousand years ago.
Not planted by gardeners, not grown by chance—
It began with a king and a royal hunting stance.
Year ten sixty-nine, arrows in the air,
A Norman king declared, “My hunting ground is there!”
Villages were cleared, the deer were given reign,
And that royal hunting law still echoes in the plain.
Chorus
Oh the New Forest’s old but its name is new,
Nearly a thousand years of mist and morning dew.
Two hundred square miles of heath and ancient tree,
Where ponies roam the roads like they own the country.
Weird and wild, history untold—
A forest that’s younger than its legends are old.
Verse 2
You’d think “New Forest” means it’s fresh and green,
But it’s older than the Magna Carta scene.
It’s not just woods—it’s heathland, bog, and stream,
A patchwork wilderness straight out of a dream.
Over 30,000 acres of ancient crown land,
Plus commons and villages scattered through the sand.
And locals have rights from medieval days—
To let their cattle wander and their pigs freely graze.
Chorus
Oh the New Forest’s old but its name is new,
Nearly a thousand years of mist and morning dew.
Two hundred square miles where the wild winds blow,
And ponies block the traffic nice and slow.
Weird and wild, stranger than it seems—
A royal hunting park that became a living dream.
Verse 3
See the New Forest ponies by the roadside stand,
Semi-wild little horses ruling all the land.
No fences to stop them, they wander where they please,
Through purple summer heather and cathedral trees.
And the pigs come out in autumn, snuffling every floor,
Eating fallen acorns like they’ve done for centuries before.
It’s called pannage, an ancient forest right—
Medieval farming still alive today and night.
Final Chorus
Oh the New Forest’s old but its name is new,
A thousand years of legends soaking through.
Kings made the rules but the wild stayed free,
Now ponies, snakes, and nightjars share the trees.