To find the rhythm in their song
And not to fret if days are long
’cause cows don’t punch a clock.
That separates him from the crowd
that keeps a job in town
That stack the boxes all in rows
Or bolt the knobs on radios
But when the evening whistle blows
They lay the hammer down.
“A job ain’t done until it’s done,”
that’s life down on the farm.
To gather those who tend to stray
To treat the sick on Christmas Day
And if she needs your help, to stay.
Until she’s safe from harm.
You see, you can’t just quit a cow.
Sometimes yer all she’s got.
No reinforcements in the hall
No nine-one-one to hear her call
Just you. Nobody else, that’s all,
to get her through the spot.
His calling is as old as time.
It is, will be and was.
Through blizzards, bogs
and bob wire fence
He stands against the pestilence
And though he feigns indifference,
he’s proud of what he does.
It’s done without a second thought
by those who tend the flock
“It’s what I do,” you’ll hear them say
With no demand for higher pay
And I believe they are that way
because we work with stock. 
