Several years ago, had two southern cowboys of sorts walk in
They came from down where tortillas grow
One was short and fat, the other long, tall and thin
On one look you could tell that they were mighty slow

Ideas and brain waves did not flourish under the hats they wore
That is what I could see as they came walking in
They were hungry, tired and feet were sore
Kind of poor, all they had was a silly grin

The tall one, his handle was Juan
The other I could not say his name, sounded like five eights or something
Juan did all the talking for the two, they thought like one
Asked them if they knew the cowboy way, they knew everything

In other words they knew nothing but we are hungry
So I fed the pair that equaled out to one
They ate like there four of them, damn they were hungry
Five eights and old Juan

Well the next day I tested their skills Juan said they had
And that did not take too long
But they tried hard, so was not all bad
But they were hungry, that is where they were strong

I guess that they were like a correntie steer that never saw green grass
That is what they saw in my pantry
Not the brightest stars in the sky you can bet your looking glass
They were not worried about their IQ's, hell they were hungry

Two days later I told them that I was out of their kind of cowboy work
And the old cupboard was bare
Juan and five eights said that they sure needed to work
But I had to say adios to the pair

If a combination plate was ever shy a couple of tacos,
It was Juan and five eights, with nothing in their heads but thin air
Their bellies had even less tacos
Juan and Five eights, they were quite a pair