Resounds about the Llano Estacado;
Though every abattoir works overtime
And every stall in Smithfield groans with prime
Cuts, from thy lips the ready lie falls pat,
How thou art sold clean out of this and that,
But will oblige me, just for old time's sake,
With half a shin bone or some hard flank steak;
Or (if with mutton I prefer to deck
My festive board) the scraggy end of neck.
And once, when goaded to a desperate stand,