| While driving through Northern Pennsylvania on a cold December day
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| He became enraged by the amount of deer hunters «at play»
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| He swore to himself that he would absolutely not ignore
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| This warped activity that he profoundly deplored…
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| So he snuck into the woods to drop some sons and daddies
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| He climbed into a tree stand and smoked a fatty
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| Along came a brush bustin' deer blastin' fanatic
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| The locals called his death an «accident» and «tragic»
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| Open season for hunter slaughter
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| Open season for hunter slaughter
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| Open season for hunter slaughter
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| Open season for the hunter slaughter
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| It wasn’t long before he was at it again
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| Acting on the knowledge that hunting is sick and must end
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| A fresh blanket of snow was on the ground
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| The day that hunter gunned thirteen down
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| He butchered 'em just like factoried hogs
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| He stacked near a cord of human logs
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| «Hey you, STOP!» |
| someone yelled
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| It was the game warden so he ran like hell!!!
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| His ballistically vented hunter loathing
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| Had caused a situation quite foreboding
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| He ran… He ran…
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| He blazed through the bush with the speed of a deer
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| The bulbous game warden was no longer near
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| He slyly circled finally reaching his car
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| Toasting his escape with two quarts from a bar
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| He drove, swillling beer to calm his nerves
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| He drove…
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| Only days passed before he crpt back in the woods
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| To quell this sick sport as much as one man possibly could
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| He passed spare time contemplating fantastic dreams…
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| The end of all human folly so cruel and blatantly obscene
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| He spied prey in his crosshairs
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| Some sick fuck hunting bear
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| Hunter clenched his gun and wryly smiled
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| This pathetic «sportsman» was gonna die
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| He yelled «Hey fuck you, dummy!»
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| The 30−06 round ripped through his tummy
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| He followed the blood trail but did not run
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| Caved the prey’s head in with the butt of his gun
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| Hunter still lurks in the woods of
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| Northeast Pennsylvania! |