Lower Howard Lake Sportmen Association
Deer Hunting 1996
Ten minutes to seven on opening morn,
along comes a deer, devoid of horn!
Looking up at the hunter in his tower of glass,
she says "hey old man, you can kiss my ass!"
How could he have known she was ment to survive,
our permit-less group, our party of five!
"Wolfbait" was gone from the deer camp this year,
replaced by a man who drinks my brand of beer!
The new guy "He-Man", seems a good fit,
but one thing for certain,
he is full of shit!
"Yukon" had a chance at a buck,
but he failed to slay, such is his luck.
With all of the fellows that hunted this year,
no game was taken, but all had seen deer.
Thanks to the new blood, the poker was great.
The old fart lost plenty, I predicted his fate!
So why do we gamble with quarters and dimes,
and why do I write these silly old rhymes?
Why do we drink that golden draft beer,
and why do we hunt the white tailed deer?
The answer is simple, deer hunters know,
the shack is a place we are destined to go.
We blow off some steam and relinquish our stress,
a wife musn't stop us, if she knows what is best!
The food and the drink and the burning of wood,
are some of the things that make a shack good.
It's a place where a father can bond with his son,
and it's a yearly event that is nothing but fun.