Classic Poem

There you go, a four-year-old
Worth the fourth of a pound of gold;
Big and heavy and wild as sin,
The range will never see you ag'in.
Tenderloin fer the dude who shirks,
Neck and knuckles fer him who works;
Good-by, steer, the bull-board's down,
And you're on your way to Packin'town.

There you go, so long, old steer!
You made us sweat to git you here;
But loaded now with nineteen more,
Your days of runnin' the range are o'er.
Hide and taller, hoofs and horns,
Nothin' of you the packer scorns;
Good-by, steer, the bull-board's down,
And you're on your way to Packin'town.