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Rated: E · Poetry · Comedy · #2312899
If music be the food of love, moo on.
*Cow* *Cow* *Cow* *Cow* *Cow* *Cow* *Cow* *Cow* *Cow* *Cow* *Cow*
...*Cow* *Cow* *Cow* *Cow* *Cow* *Cow* *Cow* *Cow* *Cow* *Cow* *Cow*


They're hustling on the hillside,
hip hopping through the hay.
With udders swinging to the beat,
they whirl the day away.

Tap dancing in the barnyard muck,
waltzing round the farm.
Slipping, sliding all about,
in sloppy bovine charm.

Dancing with the goats and sheep,
sashaying with the pigs.
And a couple of the heifers
are dancing Irish jigs.

A ballet here, a folk dance there,
a tango by the fence.
Some moves are rather gentle,
others more intense.

At milking time they must slow down
to give a pail or two.
But after that they hoof it back
to the rocking barnyard zoo.
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