Breathes there a cowboy with gullet so dry,
That could not reach for an orange NEHI.
His hand would plunge into an icy abyss,
To raise it drippin' from frosty fist,

And with aching muscle raise it high enough,
For nectar to flow over teeth and snuff.
The golden elixir nurtures here and now,
While the bottle cools a fevered brow.

With the drinkin' of it long since forgotten,
The eye stays clear, the brain ain't rotten.
Unlike its' strong cousin, the treacherous brew,
With sunlit colors of amber hue.

Fetchingly chilly, lying in wait to pounce,
Numbing the mind with every ounce.
At evenings end when you exhaust the supply,
What pain to hear, "here's mud in your eye..".

At dawn you're sprawled under the bunkhouse stoop,
And the mouth will taste of longhorn poop.
Your eyes are crossin' with no promise to meet,
While there is doubt if you still have feet.

The cowboss bellers', "Get up, you ain't near dead,
I caught from your string ol' Jaunty Red".
Then you think, "..good Lord, that horse'll kill me shore!
A stiff legged dink, my tailbone's done sore.

I'll never again swaller' that much kool-aid,
A more grim promise I've never made.
I'm fulla' ticks and fleas like my cow-dog pup,
Perhaps it's best..now I've sobered up,

When the sun is aloft'n, my throat's parched and dry
I best just reach for an orange NEHI".