Its a smokey raunchy boars nest, with an unswept drafty floor, And pillow ticking curtains, with knife scars on the floor. The smell of a pine knot fire, from a stovepipe thats come loose, Mingles sweetly with the bootgrease, and the copenhagen snoose. There are workworn .30-.30s with battered steel stocks, And drying lines of longjohns, and of steaming pungent socks. Theres a table for the bloody four, and their game of two card draw, And theres deep and dreamless sleeping, on bunkticks filled with straw. Ed and Lawrence, by the stove, their gun talk loud and hot, And Rob, has drawn a pain of kings, and raking in the pot. Harveys drafted again as cook, hes peeling spuds for stew, While Gus, wanders in baggy pants, receiting Dan McGrew. Nowhere on earth is fire so warm, nor coffee so infernal, Or whiskers stiff or jokes so rich nor hope blooms so eternal. A man can live for a solid week, in the same old underbritches, He can walk like a man, spit where he wants, and scratch himself where he itches I tell you boys theres no place else, where Id rather be come Fall, Where I eat like a bear and sing like a wolf, And feel like Im Bull Pine tall. In that raunchy cabin out in the bush, in the land of the Raven n Loon, With a tracking snow lying new to the ground, at the end of the rutting moon.
Posted on: Fri, 15 Nov 2013 02:02:48 +0000
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