When the boys roll in
To Chinquapin
In their dually trucks
Pulling goose-neck trailers
Loaded with long-stepping horses
And quick stepping pointers
Raring to race for
The front where the birds lurk
They come knowing
The birds will be lurking
In the wire-grass somewhere
Whichever course they draw
And if they are moving
They can be pointed
But they may run not fly
Or maybe they’ll lift-just maybe
Can’t be sure till you shuffle
And if they don’t flush
Tap his head quick
Let him rip to relocate
Does it right it’s pure art
Or maybe they’ll be hid
When his time comes to go
And if so it’s too bad
Cause they shut down complete
But tomorrow or after lunch
They may be everywhere again
Easy to point
But never to flush
‘Tis safer to run
Than to fly for
Death comes from the sky
And they know it for sure
At Chinquapin