The night is black
The cows, unmoved
Beware the chips that smell

The juveniles gather round
Approaching them with stealth

Creatures are snoring in the stillness of night
Their faces are blissful and at rest
Silent we turn toward the slumbering sights
But Bossie moos out in distress
Quiet, a corncob, calms her tonight
Consciences barely suppressed

Moo! Moo!

With all our might
We push and pry
Awakening - be still

Laughing, heave the Steer off side
A stupid human thrill!

They say they have stomachs too big for us
(For) to chew and digest blades of grass
They say there is methane escaping from
All the volumes of gas they must pass
And those who poke the bulls for fun
Must rise and get out of there fast

Quick we run
Quick from danger
Slowed by muddy pants

In a sense, the cows we tipped
Are merely
Rites of man