Ala bam a
Don't like huntin', but if I did,
I'd probably miss and shoot a kid.
My aim ain't good, my sights aren't sound,
Hell I'm the worst shot there is around.
I've shot some things-didn't like the meat,
It's so damn hard to cook them skeet.
Couldn't shoot them vicious little birds I love,
You know, them olive branch totin dangerous doves?
Now there's those brave dudes that shoot at deer,
With guns so big they have no fear.
They put that "monster" in their sights,
Blow off their horns in dawn's daylight.
There's many kinds of deer ya know,
Santa's got the kind that live in snow.
There's those impalas in Africa,
They got moose in Canada.
Here on Poetry we got one too.
He's so smart he'll baffle you.
He sneaks around and writes in rhyme,
That "Balla-deer" ain't hard to find.
So next time you're huntin' a poem to read,
Hunt around here very carefully.
That "Balla-deer" writin' with Rhyme in Reason,
Cuz this time of year is "Balla-deer" season.