artist : corb lund
song : talkin’ veterinarian blues
album : losin’ lately gambler

intro : G C A7 G x 2

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– – – – – 3 – – – – – – – – – | – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – | – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – | – – – – – 2 – – – – – – – – |
– – – – – – – – – – – – – – – | – 1 – – – – – – – – – – – – – – | – – – – – – – – 2 – – – – – – – – – | – – – – – – – 3 – – – – – – |
– – – – – – – – – – – – – – – | – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – | – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – | – – – – – 2 – – – – – – – – |
– – – – – – – – – – – – – – – | – – – – – – – 2 – – – – – – – – | – – – – – – – – 2 – – – – – – – – – | – – – – – – – – – – – – – – |
– – – 2 – – – – – – – – – – – | – – – – – – – – – – – 3 – – – – | – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – | – – – – – – – – – – – – – – |
– – – – – 3 – – – – – – – – – | – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – | – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – | – – – – – – – – – – – – – – |

G C
well my Daddy’s a vet and if i was one too , the one thing he
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always taught me to do was get paid , cash money .
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jam and eggs is a kind enough thank you , but not for the
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bookkeeper , not for the banker
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the margin’s thin on treatin’ large animals unless it’s A
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purebred or , more understandable , a racehorse of some kind
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you see son , city folks pay a high dollar to make sure fido
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ain’t hot under the collar , that’s where the money is
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boutique animal hospitals , shopping malls , cocker spaniels ,
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pomeranians; hang your shingle

there was a blind old woman brings in a bird with a busted
wing and somewhere she heard we were good doctors
that night it died in the cage , under our care of
unknown cause but we’ll make it square , these things happen
only one cure though , quick trip to the pet store
well mornin’ come , didn’t want to upset her; for her own
good i didn’t see a need to tell her
“not only you boys fixed his wing , but it appears as though
you taught him to sing , you are good doctors!
he ain’t never sung before , i’ve had him for years!”

when you’ve been in the business as long as i have , you
begin to consider the plight of the calves
fun lovin’ , frolickin’ , carefree little critters
the first few months ain’t all that bad , they’ll never forget
the good times they had
but then comes fall and brandin’ times , stuck in the ribs with
a red hot iron
tag in the ear , shots in the hip , the dehornin’ paste and . . .
snip , snip , snip
welcome to the world little buddy , it’s no picnic

i’ve treated my share of sugar beet chokes , if it gets too bad
you gotta cut the throat and salvage the carcass , dress him
out on the spot
this one old steer , he choked real bad , in the corner of the
pen he’s mighty mad
i poked at the beet , it wouldn’t dislodge , the farmer says , “i
got a dull knife back at the garage”
i said “go get it!” gotta save the meat
i made the jugular cut , the steer jumped to his feet , shook
his head and coughed up the beet
stood there and bled to death in front of his owner
“thank you doc . . . what do i owe ya?”
well that’s how it goes with the sugar beet chokes
just don’t get me started onnnnnnnnnn . . . . . . alfalfa bloats