The Bare Hunt

'Twas on a cold December day
When through a field of withered corn
Three hunstmen hiked upon their way
As naked as the day they're born

'Twas not a sight one often sees
A trio of buck-naked men
With willies wagging in the breeze
Their names were Peter, George and Sven

Now these three hunters never failed
To bag the game that they pursued
Be deer or turkey, hog or quail
But ne'er before while in the nude

The reason that it came to pass
That these brave men were in the buff
Was that a wanton little lass
Had stolen all their clothes and stuff

They took her to their hunting camp
To get her drunk and high and stoned
But they passed out, and then the tramp
Took everything those hunters owned

Except she left their guns behind
For they were in a heavy box
Secured with wire and baling twine
And sturdy combination locks

So when the huntsmen did arise
And see that all their clothes were gone
George hollered, "Damn that bitch's eyes!"
And Peter said, "Let's just go home."

But Sven said, "No, I came to hunt
and that is what I plan on doin'.
I will not let some thieving cunt
Turn my weekend into a ruin!"

And so the three grabbed up their guns
And trudged off through the drifting snows
With goosebumps on their naked buns
And frostbite nipping at their toes

The three men they were seen no more
And this sad tale it ends right there
They got their clothes stole by a whore
And froze to death while hunting bare