every day’s precisely planned.
The boss is always pleasant
and lavish with his praise.
And when your wife demands it,
you get another raise.
The pickup that you’re furnished
came off the showroom floor.
The horses all are gentle
and facilities top drawer.
The alleys lay so perfect
when you’re pushin’ to the scale,
you only need to set one gate
then put ’em in the mail.
The feed truck drivers thank you
and insist you’re always right.
And when you have to block their way, they’re patient and polite.
Plus, loadin’ fats is easy
though you’re tired as you can be.
’Cause the truckers all are helpful …
and say, “Oh, please, let me.”
The barn where they get processed
is as modern as they come.
Every hot shot’s always workin’;
ain’t no pandemonium.
The crowdin’ alleys built so good
the cattle flow like wine.
They almost fairly work themselves;
they wait to get in line.
And on those days when rain
or dust or snow get in the way,
the boss says, “Take it easy;
heck, they’ll wait another day.”
On holidays like Christmas,
when you work the extra mile,
the overtime they pay makes
all the hardship seem worthwhile.
No feedlot cowboy worries
’bout his job security.
They rarely ever lay one off;
too valuable, ya see.
I’ve heard ’em say about the boss,
“When all is said and done,
it’s hard to take his money
’cause I’m havin’ so much fun!”
Oh, there are days, they’d all agree,
that go against the grain,
Receivin’ bawlin weaners
in November’s freezin’ rain.
Or checkin’ pens in early March
is really not that great
When it takes a front-end loader
just to open up a gate.
But, all in all, they love their work.
The way their mufflers smell,
the Terramycin on their hands,
the Holstein steers from hell.
Scoopin’ out the rainy bunks,
a calvy heifer mess,
and the profound satisfaction
when you lance a big abscess.
The glamour of their work
ensures an application glut.
Though many hear the calling,
just a handful make the cut.
And he puts his heart into it
and stays above the mob
So he don’t have to give this up
and get a real job. 
