Archive
07/14/08 - (1)
Bull
This Monday mornin', I feel rip-snortin'-roarin'ly ready To hop atop the week's mechanical rodeo bull And ride that sombitch down to the gory glory ground,
Whip shit on that fuckin' buckin' critter, Rip its horns off, its swishin' tail clean out its butt. And if all that ain't enough,
I'm fixin' to cut its nuts off, throw 'em into the stands, Then burn my brand into its lathered-up hide, With my own personal iron —
You know, my red-hot-to-trot heifer poker, The one I tame the weekend's Wild West with, After five days of bein' screwed, myself, at the truck plant.
Oh, yeah. Come Monday mornin's, I can get a real mean head of steam up my craw; I mean, if you don't, goin' to work's a real sombitch.
Me? If I could have my prefers, I'd take Saturday and Sunday in the sack, sacked out, Dreamin' of gettin' laid, on Waikinky Beach, by naked hulas,
Not humpin' the brains out of life's mechanical beeve, Gettin' my guts scrambled, my nuts busted, Till I get thrown to the dust or the timer shuts off.
Truth is, after thirty years of this rough stuff, I'm gettin' mighty chapped, and, to boot, I'm stove up. If only I could trade workweeks for weekends,
Things'd go from meadow muffins to USDA Prime, pronto. For starters, I'd stampede that bull over a canyon, Then retire to Waikinky, to die, barebacked, in the saddle.
07/14/08 - (1)
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