The truck
Was stuck
Deep in the muck
But that cowboy
Just didn’t give a fuck
He was kicked back
In the bed
Strumming his guitar
And singing
Songs that a prairie dog
Could howl to
We stand up
One at a time
Amused by his singing
Horrified by his rhymes
And wondering
How much beer
He has with him
Our prairie dog clan
Numbered two and twenty
Have acquired a taste for the brew
Thanks to a careless delivery driver or two
They leave their trucks idling
As they talk on their phone
We sneak up and open the door
And take what we can carry
Patiently we wait
Popping up to check on things
One by one
Until sure enough
The cowboy passed out
Moving as one group
We move in to his truck
Stepping lightly in the muck
To steal all the beer
That we can carry
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