sugar me four
lines of a brown crystal grain. homegrown, baked and buttered on my toast.
got my lines crossed, got my wires cut, got hit in the gut,
got hurt, got bled, got taken for all I had.
I was led to the slaughter house. I was mad, blind, fat, and grain-fed. I was food for the masses.
I was your beast of burden. I was a lame, three-legged jackass high up on the cliff,
tipping in the wind, slipping on the sliding sands, peering down the precipice.
I will carry you as far as you want me to, and when you get to where you need to, you can bleed me from the neck and slay me,
make my coat into a fine leather jacket, slather some garlic on the grill and have yourself a fine seven course meal.
I was born a champion.
I always was and always will be a first place, blue ribbon winner.