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Bill Hicks
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Deer Hunter's Blues
There ain't nothing like whiskey in the shivering dawn, (reprise first 2 lines at end)
Sitting up in a tree, with your oranges on,
And your fingers so stiff they feel they'd just snap
If you push on them wrong--and you love it like that.
You make every move as slow as you can,
You keep your eyes open, your breathe soft and shallow,
You cradle your Twelve Gauge, she's as sweet as a baby,
And then it's a Ten-Point, and I don't mean maybe!
He's nibbling the leaves, he's looking around,
An Indian Prince, a discrete apparition:
His coat is so perfect you're not sure if you see him,
Except for his nose and his sparkling eye.
You breathe even softer, he moves even closer,
A breeze brushes your face, a leaf falls between you.
You look down the barrel, drop your sight in the notch,
You steady your shoulder, you click off the safety.
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(Bridge) And right at that moment, lasting nearly forever,
You see millions and millions and millions and millions of barbeque grills,
And millions of guys in plaid shirts and aprons,
And millions of TVs with bright football games,
And millions of cars going millions and millions of places,
With millions of drivers with dour grim faces...
And after that moment is finally gone,
And you look down the sights, Mr. Buck has done vanished,
Like a rainbow, if you happen to turn your head for a second.
(break here)
The sun's finally up now, and the forest floor's steaming,
And you take one last sip and stuff your flask back in your pocket,
And climb down the planks you nailed up on that tree,
And walk out of the woods, and head on down to the Xrds,
For a Pepsi, some Nabs, and a daily newspaper.
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