The Hunting Song

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, maybe 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 herewith.

I always will remember,

'Twas a year ago November,

I went out to hunt some deer

On a mornin' bright and clear.

I went and shot the maximum the game laws would allow,

Two game wardens, seven hunters, and a cow.

I was in no mood to trifle,

I took down my trusty rifle

And went out to stalk my prey.

What a haul I made that day.

I tied them to my fender, and I drove them home somehow,

Two game wardens, seven hunters, and a cow.

The law was very firm, it

Took away my permit,

The worst punishment I ever endured.

It turned out there was a reason,

Cows were out of season,

And one of the hunters wasn't insured.

People ask me how I do it,

And I say, "There's nothin' to it,

You just stand there lookin' cute,

And when something moves, you shoot!"

And there's ten stuffed heads in my trophy room right now,

Two game wardens, seven hunters, and a pure-bred Guernsey cow.