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(Old cowboy: “Ya know, life on the range just ain’t what it used to be. Times change, and you gotta change with ’em — at least, that’s what some people say…but I don’t really believe that…”).

“Homo on the Range” (sung to the tune of “Home on the Range”)

Oh, give me a homo where the fudgepackers roam,
Where the queers and the sodomites play,
Where never is heard that discouraging word (background chorus: “no!”),
And their moans are all heard thru the day.
Homo, homo on the range,
Where the queers and the sodomites play,
Where never is heard that discouraging word (background chorus: “no!”),
And their moans are all heard thru the day.
Where the air is so smelly, and the zippers zip free,
The blowjobs so slimy and wet,
That I would not exchange my homos on the range,
For all of San Franqueersco so bright.
The normal man was pressed from this part of the west,
He’s likely no more to return,
To the banks of the Fag River where often
The flickering meth pipes burn.
How often at night when the heavens are bright,
With the light from the sweat-coated butts,
Have I stood there amazed and asked as I gazed,
If those glory holes are permanently stretched.
Oh, I love these prancing flowers in this dear land of ours,
The fisted I love to hear cry!
And I love the white cocks and the pink-booted flocks,
Who hump on the mountain slopes high.
Oh, give me a land where the slick anal lube,
Flows leisurely down the thighs;
Where a graceful white pole goes sliding into a hole,
and pumping out a heavenly cream!
Then I would not exchange my homo on the range,
Where the queers and the sodomites play,
Where never is heard that discouraging word (background chorus: “no!”),
And their moans are all heard thru the day.