Baxter Black: Keeper of the Key
There’s a strange group of people who speak in sacred tongues.
They gather in convention halls and really test their lungs.
And to those on the outside, they’re god-like and they’re wise
As they try to win a convert with passion in their eyes.
They begin to speak of bloodlines, of cows their bull has sired
With evangelistic reverence, they truly are inspired.
Recounting her performance and weight per day of age
They rattle off her record, reciting page on page.
Her progeny’s outstanding. Their birth weight’s sure to please.
She’s ranked above the average in rel’tive calving ease.
She might be Black or Brahmer, Gelbvieh, Maine Anjou,
Simmental or Santa, just to name a few
Herefords, polled or muley, some foreign soundin’ name.
It doesn’t make much difference, the story’s all the same.
They breed the purebred cattle and know their cows by heart.
And they’ll talk yer dang fool leg off, if you let’ em start!
But I got to give’m credit ‘cause resting in their hand
Is the blueprint of the future for cows throughout the land.
So I’ll try to learn the business, call a bull by name
But I’ve made one observation ‘bout people in this game;
Listenin’ to these purebred folks makes me think right now
New Delhi’s not the only place they have a sacred cow!
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