Rememberin’ the olden days of my Grand Pappy’s youth,
Before the Super Highway and its Silicon Toll Booths,
When information was shared by word of mouth,
From neighbor to neighbor and house to house.
This seems worse than my hoss throwin’ a shoe.
With that, I’d know just what to do.
But this here ranchless work they call computin’
Stacks up hard with their brand of cowless commutin’.
And the only forkin’ I can do while hackin’ at this key-pad,
Is on my straight backed chair that pains my seat so bad.
How I long to toss my loop and take a twist and dally
While ridin’ all day long anywhere but here in this Silicon Valley.