The Parade Marshal ran up to stop them from crossing the street. “You can’t drive those cows through our orchestra!” he cried.
The oldest cowboy leaned back and said, “Whalll… what would it be worth to you to let us go through?”
The Marshal thought for a moment. “It would have to be pretty good, something extra special.”
The cowpoke reached into his saddlebag and handed the Marshal a small packet. “Lissen. In here is a bunch of marijuana suppositories. Getcha high as a kite an’ no one will know. Is it a deal?” The Marshal nodded, ordered the band to stop and let the cows across the thoroughfare.
Proving that a herd in the band is worth boo in the tush.