Cowboys of Yesteryears

The cowboys' farm is never free from till Their order is communicated through the whip To the horses that pull the plough Yes! Their whips are long and dreadful It reached them from every side They scamper at the sound of their voice It is heard like the sound of a wolf In the ‘fool moon’ They hide their shriveled mind Under the pelt scarred by the whip As their voice ring back in trembling tone They're overturned by a mightier force A saviour they thought A despot he turned out He was born, nourished and suffered alike He turned the table round, with fiercely strength And snatch them from their masters But on their backs he also rode A bigger whip he raised The bruises remain and the pain never left.