Just look in them eyes—all red an’ mean,
horns juttin’ outta each side a his bean.
An’ that hump on his neck—ya better beware,
you’ll be wishin’ right quick you could hang on there.

See them big muscles ripplin’ at the flank,
they got the power of a Sherman Tank.
Don’t underestimate them knobby knees—
they can turn on a dime anytime they please.

Those cloven hooves can stomp ya good
if ya ain’t quick enough to scoot when ya should.
An’ that mighty rear will twist ‘n turn—
make ya yell for your Mama when legs start ta burn.

That boney tail, it’ll swish ‘n sway—
rap ya upside the head in the dust ‘n fray.
He’s a half ton killer—got the temper to prove it,
so hop up there, an’ git right to it.

But if ya got any sense in your noggin at all,
you’ll git in that truck, an’ down the road you’ll haul.
So look him over, ya son-of-a-gun,
then take off them spurs, an’ run kid—run!
--Tamara Hillman