Lyrics Talkin' Veterinarian Blues - Corb Lund

Talkin' Veterinarian Blues

Well, my daddy’s a vet and if I was one too, the one thing he always taught me
to do was get paid, cash money
Jam and eggs is a kind enough thank you, but not for the bookkeeper,
not for the banker
The margin’s thin on treatin' large animals unless it’s a purebred or,
more understandable, a racehorse of some kind
You see son, city folks pay a high dollar to make sure fido ain’t hot under the
collar, that’s where the money is
Boutique animal hospitals, shopping malls, cocker spaniels, pomeranians;
hang your shingle
There was a blind old woman brings in a bird with a busted wing and somewhere
she heard we were good doctors
That night it died in the cage, under our care of unknown cause but we’ll make
it square, these things happen
Only one cure though, quick trip to the pet store
Well, mornin' come, didn’t want to upset her;
for her own good I didn’t see a
need to tell her
«Not only you boys fixed his wing, but it appears as though you taught him to
sing, you are good doctors!
He ain’t never sung before, I’ve had him for years!»
When you’ve been in the business as long as I have, you begin to consider the
plight of the calves
Fun lovin', frolickin', carefree little critters
The first few months ain’t all that bad, they’ll never forget the good times
they had
But then comes fall and brandin' times, stuck in the ribs with a red hot iron
Tag in the ear, shots in the hip, the dehornin' paste and snip, snip, snip
Welcome to the world, little buddy, it’s no picnic
I’ve treated my share of sugar beet chokes, if it gets too bad you gotta cut
the throat and salvage the carcass
Dress him out on the spot
This one old steer, he choked real bad, in the corner of the pen he’s mighty mad
I poked at the beet, it wouldn’t dislodge, the farmer says, «I got a dull knife
back at the garage»
I said «go get it!"gotta save the meat
I made the jugular cut, the steer jumped to his feet, shook his head and
coughed up the beet
Stood there and bled to death in front of his owner
«Thank you, doc… what do I owe ya?»
Well, that’s how it goes with the sugar beet chokes just don’t get me started
on… alfalfa bloats