Two and a one, two, three.
We were driving through West Texas, the land of beef and pork.
Where they tan the hides of leather we wear back in New York.
In a pasture along a roadside, behind a broke down shack.
On the dusky side of evening, we saw a figure dressed in black.
And we don't mean to sound like we're trippin', but we swear to God, we saw Lou Reed cat-tippin'.
Cat-tippin'.
Hey Lou, is that you?
She said as we pulled to the shoulder.
He just said, no screw.
And then he turned and tipped one over, under a spit-shine western sky.
Under a spit-shine western sky.
Under a spit-shine western sky.
The color of boot varnish.
Hey man, who's like Fellini?
Actually, I'm thinking more like Jim Jarmusch.
And we can't say how much we've been sipping.
But we swear to God, we saw Lou Reed cow-tipping.
Cow-tipping.
I got the cops on the sale.
I said I got a little story to tell.
Lou Reed's in the cow pen.
They said, oh no, not again.
And we hope our perception isn't slipping.
But we swear to God, we saw Lou Reed cow-tipping.
Cow-tipping.
Cow-tipping.
Cow-tipping.
Cow-tipping.
You really think that was Lou Reed?
Cow-tipping.
Sure it was, he was wearing black Levi's.
Cow-tipping.
I thought he was a vegetarian.
Cow-tipping.
He was just tipping them over, he wasn't eating them.
Cow-tipping.
Huh.
Cow-tipping.
Hmm.
Very strange.