Макушка

Ducks, give me a mountain tempo in A minor. That old cowpoke went riding out one dark and windy day Upon a rage he rested as he went along his way When all at once a mighty herd of red-eyed cows he saw A ploward through the ragged skies and up a cloudy draw The FBI, the FBI, the FBI, the ghost burning of stars Their friends were still on fire and their hooves were made of steel The horns were black and shiny and their heart-breathy confused