Boots slow when cold winds blow,
but still the farmer trudges on.
He hears the chaos in the barn
bang, crash, moo!
“Feed me! Feed me! Feed me!”

Up before the sun,
the farmer hears the cry.
“Feed me! Feed me! Feed me!”

Little feet pitter patter, and backpacks pile at the door.
Mom makes lunches.
Pancakes coat in syrup.
“Feed me! Feed me! Feed me!”

Barn door creaks and
hungry eyes silence. 
They know what he is here to do:
fill their hungry bellies,
and milk the cows too.
“Feed me! Feed me! Feed me!”

Shovels bang, grain pours, silos empty.
The cow’s perfect mix is ready.
It reminds the farmer of his favorite dish: spaghetti.
Only a cow’s favorite dish doesn’t look as appealing.
The cows line up squealing,
“Feed me! Feed me! Feed me!”

Beautiful bovines chow and hungry bellies fill.
All is quiet for a minute.
His animals feed America,
so he works from sun up to sundown.
Then he hears it from the town:
“Feed me! Feed me! Feed me!”