If our wives had picked their husbands
with the care we buy a bull
There’d be a lot more bachelors on the street.
We’d be bucked up in the willers
with the other mossy horns
Just waitin’ for a straggler still in heat.
They would check us all as yearlin’s
on the lookout for bad eyes
And notice how we traveled in the rocks
But thank goodness we weren’t cattle ‘cause a lot of us sneaked by
Nearsighted, deaf and showin’ sickle hocks.
If they’d marched us through the sale ring
as she sat there in the crowd
And studied us and read our pedigree
Could she see we might get paunchy and the highest grade we got
In heifer satisfaction was a ‘C’?
Would it make her any difference
if she knew we’d lose our teeth
And slough our hair and let our toes grow long?
Would her herd sire valuation
be affected by the fact
When we were born they used a come-along?
And our famed yearlin’ libido
she’d observed when we were young
A’crackin’ horns and tearin’ up the ground
Now occurred about as often
as a paid bank holiday.
Could she know then we’d all wind up unsound?
‘Course, we tell ourselves she’s lucky
to have had a private bull
For all these years, through all the ups and downs
But, down deep each cowman’s thankful that he curled his lip just right
Before she had more time to shop around.