It was early in the morning, before the rooster summoned the sun
I saw that crooked farmer with his trusty shooting gun
And as he crept into the barnyard, my friends began to stir
There was a flash and a bang and an echo that rang
Sending shivers down my fir
As blood pools on the mud and straw
Around old Bessie’s broken jaw
Warden, farmer, lord, and law
I was born beneath a heat lamp in a damp and narrow stable
I could hear my cousins crying from beyond my musty cradle
Then lights came down from the ceiling as I tripped o’er the feeding trough
There was a rubber glove, picked me up and cut my tail off
My mother’s name is 32
She says it ain’t nothin’ new
And that there’s nothing we can do
Bessie’s coat hangs in the oak tree behind the tool shed
And it flaps in the breeze like a battered flag flowing butterscotch and red
And the dogs like to bark at the chickens and they like to come and tease us
They say Bessie’s in the icebox, cut up in little pieces
No I can’t stand their canine grins
Lately I’ve been noticing
Those bones they gnaw ain’t venison
Well the last thing I can remember I was barreling over the fence
In a tangle of woven wire and a head filled up with sense
The tree line lay before me beyond the asphalt river
When a pair of yellow screeching eyes came and bust my bones to slivers
Oh my whole life has been a lie
I was born and bred to die
Nothing more than meat to fry
It happened too fast
Once my stars aligned
By the time I knew what was happening
Someone else made up my mind
Now darling don’t you bring me down
When you’re holding on my hand
Tell me what I gotta do to make you understand
No baby, I can’t stay here anymore
Tomorrow’s burning up and the fire’s at the door
And all we thought was happiness
Was more like pouring diesel on the floor
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