Cow turns, don't Kow Tow

 Cows in the field

Just as I was praying

Saying me Psalm,

The cows came from behind

Meaning to do me harm

But I kept reading

I kept putting my hands together

Each time I turned they had advanced at a toppling speed

And the trampling sound as of thunder came up

I turned again and they were struck dumb

By my lightning speed

It is easy to surprise a cow herd, indeed

Make eye contact is the first rule

Let them see you are not afraid

For they equate fear with walking away 

Therefore do not give them any excuses

For their abuses of animal power

And sheer brawn over brains

Just like the Hawk

You've got to keep looking over your shoulder

Look them in the eye,

If you feel you're going to die

Stand your ground

Don't run

The cows are going home

Under the sun

And lay me down in pastures green

And the beasts of the field

Shall be your friend

Oh don't be a coward,

But be a cow herd

Stand up straight like a cowboy

Why do we never learn those skills in England?

Where arguably we have the greater chance of being

Attacked by livestock

Being a rambling nation

And having the majority of foot paths crossing 

Through farming land?

Teach a British school boy how to lasso

Or how to holla at a cow

How to barter at a cattle auction

How to herd and how to gather

Oh give us a bovine education

Let us know our roots as a farming nation

Make us heed how to stop a stampede

Give us proof to contend with hoof

And know just how long to pale out the tether

make us cherish our boot leather

Blood in my eyes

 Blood in my eyes

It's a great disgrace

Blood in my eyes

And a guilty face

Blood on my hands

Like Cain and Abel

Blood on my feet

Under the table

Blood on the knife

Blood in the sky

Raining on me

I got blood in my eye

Take out the log from yours

Before you point out the stick in mine

Don't throw stones at a glass sky

Blood on my face

Blood on my hands

Can't wash the disgrace

Out of the lands

Blood in the hedgerows

Blood in the trees

Dripping like Eden

Dripping for me

All of it's even

All of it's free

Easy on the brown sauce

 Easy on the brown sauce,

Honey

Easy on the brown sauce, baby

Easy on the brown sauce mama

Easy on the brown sauce

Easy on the the brown sauce papa

Get it up on the ketch up

mama

Get it up on the table

Give me some of your vinegar honey

Put it out let me see the label

Easy on the brown sauce, daddy

Easy on the brown sauce

Oh another dollop of mayonaise baby

But easy on the brown sauce

Come on with your mustard honey

Put it on my plate again and again

Put it on the side, I'll have it with my pickle

Put it on the side of my plate

Easy on the brown sauce

Easy, easy, easy

I like my sauce easy

Easy on the brown sauce, daddy

Easy on the brown sauce

Put it on my sausage, nanny

Put it on my beans

Put on a burger, daddy

Or put it on my greens

You can mix your cheese with beans

You can mix lime and lemons even

Follow my recipe, then season

But go easy on the brown sauce

The Themepark of men and women

I went to the politically correct theme park

The theme was women

There was a hormonal roller coaster

Which I loved to ride on

And a log flume

But in this case we all rode on a giant penis that sailed

down the flume

Splashing its fluids over the side of the slide and

Then it came to an abrupt stop inside a giant anus

luckily it was padded and lots of giant red balloons

To cushion the impact

I feel these were probably the hemorrhoids

Some people were carrying on up the anal canal 

On the giant penis, but I began to feel sick at that point

So I got off the ride and started to walk

My favourite experience was the haunted house

The entrance was shaped like a woman's vulva and we

walked between her giant legs, they bent

But had hinges on the knees and every now and then

The legs would extend right up and the whole house

Would rock

It was quite spooky and dark inside

There were cysts growing in fallopian tubes

But these were being lanced by Filipino men

And Collected by filipino women in baskets

Then sold at market to wealthy gentlemen in top hats

And coat tails wearing monocles

As we walked on I noticed the clitoris was shuddering,

And a boy was jumping up and down on the G spot and that made the whole house shake

Then the sounds of arousal and a woman's cries of orgasm would come reverberating

Through the halls and corridors

Next we came to an enormous Hall like a Cathedral Nave

This was the womb

Only it was a red curtained room

Only the curtains were organic, and ripe

And dripping with blood

Along the walls

Further on in glass cabinets were fetuses some dead and some alive

In various states of growth or decay

Every now and then an egg, like a gelatinous white globe

Would pop free from the curtained walls

It was like being in a theatre

Like an amphitheatre

And the audience could sit down

And watch on stage

As a flood of sperm ran down the aisles

And came on the stage

This was where the egg had fallen

A person dressed as a sperm

Looking like a giant tadpole would wrestle with another person - I guess who was the egg

Then all the sperm were trying it on,

But she kept beating them off

Finally one leapt on her and sort of wriggled inside

The other's costume and then it all went dark

The blood stopped dripping from the curtains

The slightly rancid, iron smell was washing away

Water began flowing down the curtains

They turned purple, then blue

Then yellow,

Then green

And plants started to grow

The stage was full of ferns and looked like a wild Rousseau painting

Suddenly bursting through the vibrant bush

was the star of the show

The baby, oh he danced and sang

Like in a musical

All sorts of songs from the womb

Like don't be lonesome tonight

He played Kenny G classics on the saxophone

And threw himself against the walls like a crash test dummy

Or hurled himself about on the trapeze like

A circus acrobat

The day they cut the corn

 They have cut the corn

It is like a field that's shorn

They have cut the corn

It's cut off and torn

And all the storks look

like cones or forks

They have cut the corn today

They have shorn the field

And forced it to kneel

And made a meal of me

It was horns and reels

It was thorns and keels

That brought me back from sea

And there are major ways

and major plans

And there are places where none could pass

And there were minor lists

And major courts

The day they cut the corn

There were homes that crumbled

And furrows that rumbled

And there were brows that fell low

There was earth that lifts

And birds off cliffs

The day they cut the corn

The day they cut the corn

The minor shifts

And Major lifts

The day they cut the corn

I was quite forlorn

The day they cut the corn

The day they cut the corn

A near kiss

And you let it miss

The day they cut the corn

The crows they shift

Like clouds of mist

The day they cut the corn

The day they cut the corn

Born not made

 You were born not made

Plastic man with a plastic spade digging his very own

Plastic grave

Plastic coffin

On a plastic earth

Lasts forever

But never gives birth

Burn proof bomb proof

Like a shot gun

To the heart

Exploding in the plastic sky

That rains its plastic pellet dearth

Made not born

Plastic babies

For he was born not made

Where is maternity in modernity

Always the instinct but never distinct

Like a Nubulae some way off

In outer space, blowing plastic bubbles

What shall I do?

Live the same life as you

Live out of a shoe

Or draw the same knife as you

Cut the same grass

Bend the same blade

Some people are born while others are made

Plastic birth, and plastic bottle

Plastic message, written while they throttle

The plastic Life that never stayed, life that was torn

Life

Born but not made

Someone is coming

Summon the maid

Turn up the volume

On sister slayed

I hold the perch, like a parrot in a church,

like a symphony played

Somethings are born, while others are made

Tell me the future, the one of the earth

Where some cuts have sutures

Like umbilical births

Sew up the uterus, and make it all cutaneous

Nothing has depth, except the walls of sound

Somewhere underground, subterraneous

Where waste is aloud, and all pollution is bound

I hold my breath, here comes plastic death

Some things are born while others are made 

Plastic womb and plastic babies

crying where they laid

Plastic mothers in plastic pain

Plastic fathers out in the cold dark rain

Some people are born, while others are made

Don't you wax my surf board

 Don't you wax my surf board

You can wax my legs, you can wax my lyric

You can even wax my moon or ear

Just leave my surf board alone

Oh I came home last night and she was waxing my car 

In the drive

I told her to carry on like the doll you are

I said you can wax my turtle, you can wax my shoes

You can wax it purple you can wax them blue

But just before you do

Please be sure

Don't you wax my surf board

Leave it for me

I dropped by the tavern last Thursday night

There was a goat next to a chicken doing the foxtrot on top of the bar

I said I see you waxed the dance floor

She said sure

And you waxed the door

Yep sure I did hun

But look what you've done

In the glint of the last rays of sun

I saw three, two, one, four

You've waxed my surfboard

I told you, you can wax your hair

You can wax my candle

Even wax the waning vandal

But don't you Vidal Sassoon my uncle

Don't you wax my big balloon

Oh wax my knob and wax my Bob, wax my kitchen

And wax my hob, but be sure to leave one job

Just don't you wax my surfboard love