HEAT'LL MAKE ANYTHING MOVE EVEN TYSON, CAN GET LAID DOWN, WITH THIS TOOL JUST CAUSE THE NAME SAY GOODIE, YOU TAKE US FOR FOOLS OUT THEY RABBIT ASS MIND, DON'T GIVE ME MINE, I GO OFF LIKE MINES BLOWIN SUCKERS TO SMITHEREENS, WE WAS NEVER FOLKS IF WE FELL OUT OVER THIS LIL' CREAM OR LET SOME SOFT LEGS COME IN BETWEEN OUR DREAMS WE LIVE LIKE KINGS, AND DIE LIKE FUCKIN MEN I DON'T CARE HOW ROUGH YOU ROLL, WE CAN'T BE SHUT DOWN AIN'T NO OPENIN UP SHOP, WE ALREADY ESTABLISHED YOU LAP DOGGIN, WE BOSS HOGGIN GROWN MEN, DON'T BEG FOR ATTENTION KEEP WISHIN, HIGH HEELS CLICKIN PAPER CHAMPIONS, LEAVIN WITH THEY FEET BEHIND ZAP EM FOR THE PUMPKIN, AT TWELVE ON THE BOTTOM BUNK, HOLLA AT ME SIX TO THE LEFT, LAST ONE, CAN'T TURN OVER WITH DIRT ON YA SLAIN DEAD, DEVILS, DON'T HAVE ENOUGH TO PURCHASE MY ESSENCE IN DA HEAD, MISSIN OUNCES, ZIP CODE, EIGHT MILES SUCKAS, THINK I GOT THEY PACKAGE BUT THEY STILL EATIN MOO-MOO, OINK-OINK AND FOWL-FOWL-FOWL-FOWL..
Just sit tight. Reinforcements should be here soon. Hopefully nothing happens before-" Lightning crackled overhead. The wind picked up with a vengeance. Worksheets flew into the Grand Canyon, and the entire bridge shuddered. Kids screamed, stumbling and grabbing the rails. "I had to say something," Hedge grumbled. He bellowed into his megaphone: "Everyone inside! The cow says moo! Off the skywalk!" "I thought you said this thing was stable!" Jason shouted over the wind. "Under normal circumstances," Hedge agreed, "which these aren't.
A March Calf Right from the start he is dressed in his best - his blacks and his whites Little Fauntleroy - quiffed and glossy, A Sunday suit, a wedding natty get-up, Standing in dunged straw Under cobwebby beams, near the mud wall, Half of him legs, Shining-eyed, requiring nothing more But that mother's milk come back often. Everything else is in order, just as it is. Let the summer skies hold off, for the moment. This is just as he wants it. A little at a time, of each new thing, is best. Too much and too sudden is too frightening - When I block the light, a bulk from space, To let him in to his mother for a suck, He bolts a yard or two, then freezes, Staring from every hair in all directions, Ready for the worst, shut up in his hopeful religion, A little syllogism With a wet blue-reddish muzzle, for God's thumb. You see all his hopes bustling As he reaches between the worn rails towards The topheavy oven of his mother. He trembles to grow, stretching his curl-tip tongue - What did cattle ever find here To make this dear little fellow So eager to prepare himself? He is already in the race, and quivering to win - His new purpled eyeball swivel-jerks In the elbowing push of his plans. Hungry people are getting hungrier, Butchers developing expertise and markets, But he just wobbles his tail - and glistens Within his dapper profile Unaware of how his whole lineage Has been tied up. He shivers for feel of the world licking his side. He is like an ember - one glow Of lighting himself up With the fuel of himself, breathing and brightening. Soon he'll plunge out, to scatter his seething joy, To be present at the grass, To be free on the surface of such a wideness, To find himself. To stand. To moo.