I like kitties ’cause you can control,
Yeah, you can control their “mire.”
Not a whole lot o’ dumpin’ and they’re set to learn
Where their waste should retire.

Get a thousand shitty heifers; take care, beware
’cause they’re all vittlin’ plenty o’ fare,
Their plentitude digested. . .comes out there.
Vacian las vacas, vacian las vacas.

Out of them the fare does pour:
Processed forage, corn, silage, and hay.
Just when you think, they couldn’t force more,
Out comes a creek the hue of café.
You’d best stand back—a soaker is the poo-jet deal;
A torrent comes across to flood your heel;
When the feed does depart, it don’t appeal.
Vacian las vacas, vacian las vacas.

Vacian las vacas—then they pee on that shit;
This ain’t guano, like dry batshit—
You hope, open’s the drain.
Vacian las vacas—surging shite says, sashay time:
Turn away, or it’s blight time.
When you see that dump,
Don’t stay put, or you may get drenched.

Kine, it seems, have got the runs;
The quantity really stuns—
Lots of Bossies can emit some slime.
Methane doesn’t smoke. . .smells
Just like anal venting that ain’t exactly sublime.
They’re gonna give you everything they got,
Graze then cuds and ruminate a lot.
When they poop the scent of hell is wrought.
Vacian las vacas, vacian las vacas.
Vacian, vacian las vacas.