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Hunting The Duck
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Yeah! We're going to sing a song for you now, And this one is dedicated to urban duck hunters: People who leave the city and go out around the bay to hunt duck. The song is called... Hunting The Duck. This cramped city life is not right for a man, We were born to live free and to kill what we can; So it's off to the country where the air's fresh and clear, With a carton of cigarettes and twelve dozen beer. So blow the horn loudly and rev up the truck, We're off to the country to murder the duck. We climb in the truck about six forty-five, And proceed to get tanked for the long weary drive; When we get to the cabin we're all brightly lit, Can't remember who drove and can't tell what we hit. So blow the horn loudly and rev up the truck, We're off to the country to murder the duck. Now it's up with the dawn though the coffee's no good, And down to the lake through the dew-spangled wood; When we get to the blind we're as happy as boys, Till we find out that Buddy forgot the decoys. So blow the horn loudly and rev up the truck, We're off to the country to murder the duck. We crouch without standing from nine until three, 'Cept every few minutes we stand up to pee; At last! There's a duck and we fill it with lead, Can't figure who shot it but the


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