Your tools are safe within my reach.
I'd never rob a bank.
I pump and pay for gasoline
when I fill up my tank.
I buy a round when it's my turn
'cause my buddies like a drink.
I mow my grass. I pay my tax,
no matter what I think.
You'll find I never cheat at cards,
do chores without complaint.
When it comes to spending,
I always show restraint.
The boss says he'd like more like me.
My record's without taint.
So when you come right down to it,
I'm practically a saint.
But when the wind blows from the North
and days are getting shorter,
the Devil gets inside of me
and I will give no quarter.
Buck fever overtakes me.
My tracking skills check in.
With rifle, camo suit and Tinks,
I'm ready to begin.
I'll cut your fence. I'll shoot your game-
even out of season.
I don't care what the law may say.
I seem to loose all reason.
Too bad for those who fed the deer
and put up all those fences.
No trespassing? I laugh in scorn.
I'll outwit your defences.
That night outside the jiffy mart,
I'll park my pickup truck.
The gang will shout, "Oh, what a kill!"
"You've bagged a mega-buck!"
It's then reality sets in.
All eyes avert my own.
They recognize the drop tine buck
old Hester's raised and grown.
All turn away, they know the truth.
My story is not so kosher.
I am the sportsman's hated foe...
a dirty, no-good poacher.