It is a drunken hasher
And he’s singing to a crowd.
“By your beery breath and cumstained beard
Why must you be so loud?”
He holds us with a drunken hand
“There was a trail,” said he
“Shut up! Stop singing, Lick it to Ride!
And then our hands dropped we
He holds us with his crazy eye
The hashers all were dumb
And listened like an altarboy
With a priesthole in his bum
“The sky was clear, like day old beer
But neither trail had marks
We struggled through the shiggy wood
Like drunks stumbling in the dark
The trail now went to the left
Through the village square
And curled and wound and back around
Through the village square
The trail now went to the left
Through the village square
And curled and wound and back around
Through the village square
And then we ran through mud and trees
full of scratching ticks
And thorns, mast high, were scratching by
Like lice beneath our dicks
Shiggy, shiggy, everywhere
And the mud began to suck
Shiggy, shiggy, everwhere
And not a thing to fuck
A restaurant rose upon the right
But the trail stretched on ahead
“Fuck this shit,” they all declared
“Let’s get drunk instead.”
They ate and drank, and smoked and stank
Until Dazed arrived
We all leaned back and wondered if
The hares were still alive.
Now dropped the hares, the racists came
Last of all the pack
The circle started, and Pikachu farted
And Rear Entry lubed his crack
Miss Sink and D asked the crowd
To name the worst Boxer Hares
But when one drunk hasher yelled aloud
We all swore Pickle Boy was there.
The hasher, whose voice is loud
And whose beard is filled with cum
has turned, and now the drunken crowd
Is looking at his bum
He went like one who had been fucked
In a most unpleasant way
A sadder and hungover man
He woke the following morn.
WRW
On on.
