You pretend you are so very benign.
Can you hear me, you backward bovine?
You're just standing there chewing cud,
Standing in your own filth and mud.

Why can't you move on to a greener field?
A place with a bit more vegetable yield.
Of course there would be an abundance of climbing rocks.
Some would be as hard as your head, austere ox.

Then it would be just me and my shadow.
Free to be any range of bronco or burro.
Peace I will have for my psyche,
Away from you, primitive donkey.