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Almost every day during the hunting season you see at least one item in the newspapers about somebody who has shot somebody else, under the impression that he was a deer with a red hat perhaps, |
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A large flesh-colored squirrel. at any rate, it seems to me that this marks an encouraging new trend in the field of blood sports, and deserves a new type of hunting song which i present herewi |
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Br> |
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I always will remember, |
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'twas a year ago november, |
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I went out to hunt some deer |
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On a mornin' bright and clear. |
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I went and shot the maximum the game laws would allow, |
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Two game wardens, seven hunters, and a cow. |
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I was in no mood to trifle, |
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I took down my trusty rifle |
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And went out to stalk my prey. |
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What a haul i made that day. |
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I tied them to my fender, and i drove them home somehow, |
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Two game wardens, seven hunters, and a cow. |
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The law was very firm, it |
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Took away my permit, |
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The worst punishment i ever endured. |
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It turned out there was a reason, |
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Cows were out of season, |
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And one of the hunters wasn't insured. |
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People ask me how i do it, |
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And i say, "there's nothin' to it, |
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You just stand there lookin' cute, |
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And when something moves, you shoot!" |
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And there's ten stuffed heads in my trophy room right now, |
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Two game wardens, seven hunters, and a pure-bred guernsey cow. |
