Roger Horsch (12/05/1964 / Jackson, Michigan USA)
Deer Hunters' Camp
It's another year of Deer Hunters' Camp
Where my friend Tom caught fire while igniting his lamp.
He screamed, 'Put me out! ' as he ran out of sight.
I yelled, 'Stop, drop and Roll... and you'll be alright! '
Then there was Greg, who loved to get drunk.
He passed out in his tent, while hugging a skunk.
Him stinking so bad, it must have been hell.
So, we kept him down wind because of the smell.
Now here comes Bill, who brought us a treat.
He fed us all jerky that smelled just like feet.
We about beat him to death with a bag full of rocks
‘Cause, it wasn't deer jerky, it was hard crusty socks.
We hunted all week without any luck
Then what came into camp was the world's largest buck.
We looked at each other, beaten and tired
Then pointed our guns, but nobody fired.
We seemed to go through this year after year
And I'm never amazed why we haven't got deer.
When we all get together, the deer is the champ
But, there's always next year at Deer Hunters' Camp.
Comments about this poem (Deer Hunters' Camp by Roger Horsch )
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