A Uke Man Rant
Down On the Farm
Chewing our cuds, rolling our eyes, lolling beneath cardboard, empty blue skies - indolent Holsteins! No shades of gray! We’re all black and white, baking cow pies all day; spewing volumes of methane - with no words to say.
And they milk us and breed us until one fine day when it’s time for the knacker to take us away, and then we are sausage and fed to their dogs, middle-class Holsteins (better off than the hogs who are slaughtered much sooner and eaten with pride by the fork-wielding Man who has Dog on his side).
Sure, they milk us and skin us and grind us up well, but forever that truth is forbidden to tell. Deny it, suppress it, hide it with stealth. Tell it to no one not even yourself.
. . . . . . . .
On rain-glazed white chickens so much can depend when the wheelbarrow red revolves once again, and hatches a prophet who demands that we speak, and sings out that courage is what we must seek! And prods us on to-it with the strength of his beak! Inherit the wind – not the earth – if you’re meek.
. . . . . . . . . .
Bovinish beatitudes, dairy farm platitudes - but Mr. Jones’ attitudes have Dog on their side.
Productivity’s up, supply and demand; “Supply more with less!” is Jones’s command. The Cow Jones Industrials and the Nazduck are grand; so shut up and kneel and give Dog a hand.
Pork bellies are up and Capital gains - while the manor-born feed on our bodies and brains. And Dog preaches on in his saccharine tones, speaking down to us from his pulpit of bones of the sweet, blessed oil that’s squeezed from our blood, as we “Moooo” our “Amen’s” and plod on through the mud.
We are the hollow cows, guts filled with straw! Cowardly lions eating collard greens - raw! Self-blinded fools marching into the maw of Dog and country and the Rule of Law. “Damn the torpedoes; full speed ahead; salute the flag or you too could be dead.” See not what they did; just hear what they said. Yeah, the blood’s on their hands, but the cost’s on our heads!
. . . . . . .
On rain-glazed white chickens so much can depend when the wheelbarrow red comes round once again, and hatches a prophet who demands that we speak, and sings out that courage is what we must seek! And prods us on to-it with the strength of his beak!
So stand up and curse and – finally – speak! Spit out your cud; awake from the dream; banish the nightmare; and stand up an scream!
Banish the nightmare.
Awake from the dream.
Chewing our cuds, rolling our eyes, lolling beneath cardboard, empty blue skies - indolent Holsteins! No shades of gray! We’re all black and white, baking cow pies all day; spewing volumes of methane - with no words to say.
And they milk us and breed us until one fine day when it’s time for the knacker to take us away, and then we are sausage and fed to their dogs, middle-class Holsteins (better off than the hogs who are slaughtered much sooner and eaten with pride by the fork-wielding Man who has Dog on his side).
Sure, they milk us and skin us and grind us up well, but forever that truth is forbidden to tell. Deny it, suppress it, hide it with stealth. Tell it to no one not even yourself.
. . . . . . . .
On rain-glazed white chickens so much can depend when the wheelbarrow red revolves once again, and hatches a prophet who demands that we speak, and sings out that courage is what we must seek! And prods us on to-it with the strength of his beak! Inherit the wind – not the earth – if you’re meek.
. . . . . . . . . .
Bovinish beatitudes, dairy farm platitudes - but Mr. Jones’ attitudes have Dog on their side.
Productivity’s up, supply and demand; “Supply more with less!” is Jones’s command. The Cow Jones Industrials and the Nazduck are grand; so shut up and kneel and give Dog a hand.
Pork bellies are up and Capital gains - while the manor-born feed on our bodies and brains. And Dog preaches on in his saccharine tones, speaking down to us from his pulpit of bones of the sweet, blessed oil that’s squeezed from our blood, as we “Moooo” our “Amen’s” and plod on through the mud.
We are the hollow cows, guts filled with straw! Cowardly lions eating collard greens - raw! Self-blinded fools marching into the maw of Dog and country and the Rule of Law. “Damn the torpedoes; full speed ahead; salute the flag or you too could be dead.” See not what they did; just hear what they said. Yeah, the blood’s on their hands, but the cost’s on our heads!
. . . . . . .
On rain-glazed white chickens so much can depend when the wheelbarrow red comes round once again, and hatches a prophet who demands that we speak, and sings out that courage is what we must seek! And prods us on to-it with the strength of his beak!
So stand up and curse and – finally – speak! Spit out your cud; awake from the dream; banish the nightmare; and stand up an scream!
Banish the nightmare.
Awake from the dream.
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