Good, they taste like game
In your craw—won’t you have some?
In life they are tame
’cause it’s gone—they don’t have one.
They once were strong;
They carried dong,
But for them it don’t belong—
Steers don’t have one.

It’s worse than a brand.
Snip if off. . .they don’t have one.
They’re gelded of gland. . .
Clip if off. . .they don’t have one
Unkind to flay it off that way.
Ow! No cows now will they lay;
Steers don’t have one.

Knife can bring you down,
Knife can rend wee-wee,
Knife can take your part,
Leave you sexless, peeved,
Very peeved!

Past the barn door
They’re going to core,
And that growth will be no more—
Steers don’t have one.

Woody can’t be gained—
Can’t be pa. . .you don’t have one.
Willie ain’t retained—
Can’t seed ma. . .you don’t have one.
Your taste ain’t strong; you’re carried on
To a table where a throng
Eats you. “Have some!”