Cash Cow (A Rock Opera in Three Short Acts)

With mock grandeur and prophetic fire, “Cash Cow” brings Steve Taylor’s Squint to a blistering close. It is not a song so much as a satirical sermon set to music, a spoken-word monologue wrapped in distorted guitars, sound effects, and a touch of holy absurdity. It is also the most direct confrontation on the album with the idols that quietly shape modern lives, both secular and sacred.

Taylor opens with a parody of biblical narrative. In the Sinai desert, the golden calf rises once more, not as a statue of ancient rebellion, but as the modern "cash cow," born of prosperity theology, consumer culture, and unchecked appetite. Its face, Taylor jokes, is like that of a certain televangelist. But he is not just lampooning religious charlatans. He is indicting the whole system of spiritual materialism and moral convenience.

Each verse is a spiral into madness and mockery. The voice is part carnival barker, part doomsday prophet, drawing attention to the absurd lengths we go to justify our desire for more. “I had money and needed more money. I was filthy rich and all I wanted was love… and a little more money.” Taylor exposes the emptiness at the core of affluence and the ridiculous slogans that paper over the cracks. The cow is not just an idol. It is a liar, a shape-shifter, and a dealer.

The recurring chorus, “Who loves you, baby? Who’ll give you good credit?” is a grotesque inversion of gospel promise. It mimics the voice of the tempter, offering comfort without cost, prosperity without principle, blessing without obedience. The cash cow promises everything but delivers enslavement. The repeated cries and mock laughter evoke the Book of Revelation more than a rock anthem.

But “Cash Cow” is not just an over-the-top parody. It is a warning. Taylor anticipates his critics: “You think this is stupid, don’t you?” Then he turns the mirror around. The cow, he says, is planning a coup. It is already winning. The moment we utter the words “I deserve better,” we find ourselves in its grip.

In many ways, this track is the natural culmination of Squint. It gathers the album’s major themes: authentic faith, cultural compromise, false identity, and the lure of the easy path and pushes them to their most exaggerated, theatrical form. Yet for all its noise and satire, “Cash Cow” is deadly serious. It dares listeners to identify their own golden calves and to choose whom they will serve.

With this final act, Taylor does not offer neat closure or simple solutions. Instead, he leaves us unsettled. The laughter fades. The guitar solo rages. And we are left to ask what gods we have trusted, what voices we have followed, and what sacrifices we have made in the name of self.

This post is part of my series walking through Steve Taylor’s album “Squint.” An album that still speaks to the absurdities of our culture contrasted by the grace being offered us.