Rainbow cow

Pastures of greenbacks and overtime;

the grass is a little greener on this side.

Forty hours in four nights, have I lost my mind?

No, impossible. I do this for pride.

Pride I’ll never be proud of; just the merits of money.


I’ve no say when my udders are touched.

So long as magic still comes out, chunky or not,

I won’t be become a burger of burden, just a beast with a crutch.

Hobbling on nothing, but faith and froth;

drunk some nights, swinging at ghosts on most.


The belligerent bovine, hear me moo!

Some days I wish to be a T-bone

Other days, a rib-eye too.

Even when my udders run dry, I don’t go home.

Wishing I could produce in this factory of clones.


After poking and prodding plus some threats of a brand,

I eventually hoof it home, wait. These are hands!

This udder is a fanny pack, man what have I been smoking.

When my dealer said “This is that good shit” he sure wasn’t joking.