The farming isn't paying much, in these ultra modern days
With the price o' pork, and the C.A.P., and the fut'n'mouth disase,
I was thinking hard of quitting, and signing on the broo,
But squeezin' bulls, and smugglin' pigs is all that I can do!

So when I heard the rumours, sure I phoned up right away,
And a boyo from the Ministry, landed out the very next day.
Says he, We're looking for a place that's sad and badly run,
To try a new experiment our chaps are working on.

We can install computers, and connect your beef and mutton,
You'd be able for to run the place at the touch of one wee button.
It would feed your pigs, and bullocks, and run your milking plant!
Says I, My only question would be - will I get a grant?

The EEC would pay for all, and so I signed the chit,
And soon the place was ankle deep in wires and bullock shit.
I offered to clean up the yard, but the boyos didn't mind,
They said their job was ankle deep in bullshit all the time!

There were hardware men & software men, and all they did was talk,
And each one blamed the other, if something did not work.
The bloke who wired the calf house - he got a wee bit stroppy -
He complained that our wee heifer had downloaded on his floppy!

One chap was tearing out his hair, and swearing fit to burst,
So I asked him what the problem was - 'It's Microsoft', he cursed!
I'm trying to put Windows in, and I can't fix all their tricks,
Says I, 'There's boys round Keady put yer windows in with bricks!'

When the thing was ready, no work was left for me,
But to lie in bed in splendour, and watch Kilroy on TV!
The animals had all been trained, for me there was no call,
But I used to wander round at times, to marvel at it all.

The tractor had this guidance thing, worked off a satellite,
It could go out totally by itself, to plough, or spread the shite!
It worked all day, from dawn to dusk, and never thought of skiving,
And it never stopped outside the pub, like it did when I was driving!

The pigs, we always reckoned, were as happy as could be,
Rooting round the meadows, in clobber to the knee!
But now they had a toilet, and their own big bathroom suite,
And lived in spotless splendour, with everything so neat.

Their food was all delivered, with plastic forks and spoons,
And they ate with great decorum, in their splendid dining rooms,
The boar lived in a special pen, with soft romantic lights,
And was visited by all the sows, but only weekday nights.

The computer scheduled him to rest, each Sunday after tea,
And put on Miss Piggy videos on his personal TV.
It checked each sow's contentment scale, after all his sessions,
And a little crushed viagra might be added to his rations!

The gates were opened up each day, sharp at seven am.
And the cows would march, like soldiers, down to the milking pen.
No need to chase them homeward, with whack or casual prod,
And all of them were programmed not to skitter down the road!

Milk production zoomed at once, for each one gave her all,
With her perfect balanced diet, and her soothing milking stall.
And if the vet might have to come, no mess did it entail,
He had a network socket he plugged in beneath each tail!

No need for arms inserted deep, in rectal penetration,
He could see the details all on screen, in graphic presentation!
It would even formulate a cure, with drugs and balms and potions,
For tender tits, or crumpled horns, or thin and greenish motions!

When it came to breeding, there was some querr change in that -
We always used the 'AI Man'- the 'Bull in the Bowler Hat'!
But these cows got on the internet, and God knows what they found,
Great big Blondie Swedish Bulls, that were dangling to the ground!

Primrose, Belle and Daisy Mae all took their pick and then,
Ulrika took a fancy to a massive bull called Sven!
Each cow, in turn, picked out her mate, the one she fancied most,
And their love was consummated, and delivered Parcel Post!

The sheep live up the mountainside, in the warmer summer climes,
And I'd send oul' Shep to round them up, to check them out at times.
But none of that oul' whistling stuff, when you wanted him to turn,
You called him on his mobile phone - provided it was on!

The Ram was wearing diamond rings, and a fancy leather jacket,
He said he was a 'businessman' - and making quite a packet!
He had his own wee website, called 'FatAndFluffyLambas',
With pictures of our younger ewes, in 'Baby Doll' pyjamas!

It seems he hired them out to blokes whose love life was not grand,
And invested all the profits in a bank, on the Isle of Man!
A squad went off each weekend to Drumsill and Carrickmore,
To wait outside the dancehall, for boys who didn't score!

He had special rates for rugby teams, and big New Zealand men,
And he ran a 'barn of ill repute', somewhere near Crossmaglen!
Says he, "Don't you go out tonight, if there's noise behind the bales,
I've a wheen o'boys on a stag night, flying in from Wales!

But of course it ended up in tears, like most good things in life,
For I thought that I would ask them to computerise the wife!
All the parts were working, but some things sagged a bit,
If you seen her in her birthday suit, you might think it didn't fit!

Her engine was still going strong, but the gearbox was away.
She could hardly even climb the stairs, to bring me up my tay!
So they fitted her with microchips, and a wee recharging socket,
And she flew round doing housework, just like a bloody rocket!

She started on them fitness things, till her strength became a menace,
Her legs developed muscles like yon blade that plays the tennis!
She used to lift the sofa up, to hoover down below it,
One day I was lying on it, and she didn't even know it!

And her memory - it was perfect, all recorded on CD,
And then replayed in stereo, to prove how wrong I'd be!
I had to watch each thing I said, even if it made no sense
For every word was taken down, and used in evidence!

Then she got on to the Internet, along with them damn cows,
And learned what she'd been missing - by God there was some rows!
It seemed that other men did things, about which I knew nothing,
Like buying bloody birthday cards, or helping with the shopping!

There's men on there with bodies that looked packed out with rocks,
With teeth like rows of tombstones, and chins like concrete blocks!
And there's other photographs as well, of things I cannot say,
But I caught her staring at the horse, in a longing sort of way!

So life became a torture, from early morn to night,
No matter what I said or did, she knew it wasn't right.
And even in the dark of night, she always wanted more.
It ended up I had to steal that stuff they fed the boar!

There was only the one answer, so I got out the phonebook,
And rung the Ministry Boyo, to get me off the hook.
But he said you've signed along the line, and no way you can gyp,
So I'm going in tomorrow - to get MYSELF a microchip!