Moo till the cows come home

Mooo to you'se readers. How does one sum up the Black Cows? They have been described variously and loudly, a herd of bovine flavoured beasties loose in the world loudly pining for the sanctity of the cow jamm, oh and what a jamm it is, fully matured and bountiful bouquet, and the plumage is to be absorbed with a mind to the paddock, where these beasts do their most creative endeavours. 

More than a decade since the engine room was stoked, the contemporary herd has been stable for at least 6 year, whilst memories of Longhorn, Medium Rare, Snakebite and others linger the Black Cows are comfortable in their current hide. 

Oyster Blade has the chops, sound tech and instrumentalist with a piquant cheese sauce, the groove lies within. Jersey is bassically funking awesome, this one knows the sound is at steak! Angus lives large with love and lungs, his larynx largesse living lusciously lurid, a word man in the prime of mental health. Ah Moo, the eye candy and sugar on top, his eyes follow you around the room and Mad Cow at the back driving and writhing in beat, keeping cattle peccadillos in check. 

The Cows are to be absorbed, experienced and enjoyed with friends. It is all about love.