Don't seem to find any trace of this spirited song from our friends in Canada in a brief survey of the threads. It might well become a Mudcat classic at our gatherings, with an appropriate dancing troop. We heard it a few years ago at The Folk Harbour Festival in Lunenburg, Nova Scotia, a festival which is coming up soon in the second weekend of August(Copy & repaste into WORD/TIMES/12):

MALE BONDING SONG
(Words & Music by Bill Gallaher © 1995 From The Last Battle CD BGM 1002)

G-------------------------------C
When we learned, it was a shocking re-ve-lation
----D--------------------------------G
That somehow as men we simply hadn't grown;
----------------------G7--------------C
So we looked at all you women, and your pride in feminism,
-------D7-------------------------G
And we started up a movement of our own.
-----C—D-G-------C---------D
Now we are men, and proud to be men;
---G---------C-----------D
We meet every Sa-tur-day at three;
----------G---------------------G7
And we ex-plore with great per-sis-tence,
---C
Our mas-cu-line existence,
--------D----------------------------------G
Beat our drums, and run off naked through the trees.

Chorus:

G-------------------------------------C
Oh, we all go running naked through the trees,
---D-----------------------G
As naked as a jaybird, if you please,
-----------------------G7
Oh, we throw off all our wrappings,
----------C
And with private parts a-flapping,
----D-----------------------------G
We all go running naked through the trees!


Yes, every weekend we all meet deep in the forest,
Where we beat our drums and fashion spears from trees;
And with our faces painted, we all get re-acquainted
With our atavistic masculinity.
For we are men and proud to be men,
We meet every Saturday at three;
And we flaunt with great pretension
Those long penile extensions,
As we all go running naked through the trees.(CHO)

I guess we spent too long pretending we were something we were not,
While we hid our inner turmoil and our strife;
You thought we had a bed of roses though we stood with runny noses,
Pressed up hard against the window pane of life.
Now we are men and damn proud to be men,
We meet every Saturday at three;
And if you think it's just depravity,
You don't know what it's like to be,
A man gone running naked through the trees (It hurts!).(CHO)

Cheerily,
Charley Noble