Oh I bet you're wonderin' why they moo
As if they have been gettin' stewed.
They lie down after falling on the floor.
They're sleeping between pig sties
Now they're starting to snore.
We just can't get a rise, even with hay,
Since they found those festered grapes.

Now we know that. . .

CHORUS:
The herd got in the grapevines—
Ate fruit too fermented for wine.
Moo, the herd got in the grapevines—
And now they are drunk out of their minds:
Holsteins, Holsteins, yeah.

Their mams' BAC* rating is quite high—
Like Bailey's Irish Cream inside.
Boozy moos fly from their mouths, drooping.
Cuds unchewed and much pooping.
It took a toll on their health. . .
Bovine bromides from the shelf,
Because. . .

CHORUS

Not exactly small calves that we can heave—
They weigh more than a steer.
Moving them'd make us contused.
We'll have to use a John Deere.
Go out and get the backhoe
To get these huge bodies off the floor.

Ready? Go. . .

CHORUS.