A-hunting we will go.
A-hunting we are gone.
We'll ride through hail and snow,
And our hunting hats we'll don.

Hunting all day long,
And we sing our hunting song:

"Give me back my tea spoon..."
No that's not how it goes.
But never mind; we'll hum a tune,
And chase our furry foes.

Stupid, stupid fox.
  He couldn't duck the bullet.
We're not here to kill the fox.
  We're only here to cull it.

Silly, silly duck.
  He couldn't out-fox the crossbow.
How the fox is still alive,
  I'm still at a loss, though.

The dogs lead us to a goat.
Where the fox is we don't know.
But a fox in a hat and a bright red coat
Points to where we should go.

The undergrowth is dense.
All over, not just under.
We come to a halt at a fence,
And look beyond in wonder.

People hunt a yellow bird
With nets but it gets away.
We look in awe; not one word
Can any of us say.

Or maybe one, but no more.
'Tennis', someone calls this thing.
The party is a group of four,
And the little bird won't sing.

This type of hunt is the right thing.
It's better than horses and a gun.
It's so much more exciting,
And a million times more fun.

They let us have a go.
It's just as much fun as it looks.
But no one there seems to know
Why it isn't in the hunting books.

Adam and Heather
  Stand before a painting.
An artist painted Heather.
  They look with some surprise.
Or more than just surprise;
  She's on the point of fainting.
Adam says, "I know it's you
  By the deep blue eyes."

The eyes and the body
  Heather recognises too.
But he's painted the head
  Of a badger on her neck.
And yes, in the eyes
  There's a lovely shade of blue,
But the only word she can use
  Is slightly worse than 'feck'.

"I told you not to trust
  An artist with one eye."
This is Adam's verdict.
  She doesn't quite agree.
Heather says, "That's absolutely
  Not the reason why
"He chose to paint a badger's head
  Where my face should be."

Adam says he told her so
  More than once or twice,
And she should have listened
  But she went ahead instead.
In her real eyes there's a look
  That's rarely very nice.
She takes her engagement ring
  And throws it at his head.

"Keep the bloody ring.
"You can give it to the cat.
"You hardly know a thing
"And you're talking through your hat."

"Is this about the chalk?" he says.
  Her answer is a yes.
"Yes it's about the bloody chalk."
  She nearly cries.
Adam still hopes he'll see Heather
  In her wedding dress.
He picks the ring from off the floor
  And looks her in the eyes.

"I'm sorry I told your friends
  That you ate a piece of chalk.
"I should really read out lines
  From a screenplay or a book.
"I always say the wrong things
  Nearly every time I talk.
"You're at least ten times more pretty
  Than this artist made you look."

She takes the ring and puts it on.
  Adam's there to hold her.
She says on second thoughts
  The painting's not so bad at all.
But she'd like to let the artist know
  That he should have told her.
Adam asks her for some chalk
  To write that on the wall.

Stealing things is what I do.
I'll do it all day long.
It doesn't take all day, that's true.
I'll steal with a smile and a song.

I used to be an actor.
I've done an ad for beer.
One role was a factor
In changing my career.

I played the part of a thief
In a soap opera on TV,
Until he came to grief,
Killed by a shark in the sea.

It seemed like so much fun.
I killed a horse at the prom.
I robbed the bank with a sub machine gun,
And the corner shop with a bomb.

'In' I am now clued.
As a crook I'm going live.
This is how I pay for food
And the four-by-four in the drive.

Or I will do very soon.
I've just moved house to here.
I'll wait for the next new moon
Before starting my career.

My neighbours all seem fine.
My name is Joe but they don't know.
I asked their names; when they asked mine
I said my name was Joe.

Damn, why did I say that?
I meant to say 'Pierre'.
Or Jack or Jim or Bob or Matt,
Or a nickname like 'The Hare'.

I've already left behind a clue,
But at least they don't know I'm a crook,
Because when they asked me what I do
I...

Damn!

Up for work, another day.
Goodbye dear, on my way.
Moving very slowly now,
Over taken by a cow.

I think the cow is standing still,
Staring at me, as cows will.

Work all day. Running 'round.
Talk to people. How are you?
How is he or she or they?
Who are they? What do they do?

Hello you.
I know you.
It's you again.
How are you?
"I'm..."
(Who is she?
Oh yeah, it's her.
I knew I saw her face before,
As soon as she walked through the door.
I'd recognise her by her voice).
"...The vets were great to break the ice."
That's just great.
We'll meet again.
Et-ceter-ah.
Da da da then,

Going home, so on and on.
Countless cars. The cow is gone.

Nearly there now, won't be long.
Here I am. Ding, dong.
No wait a while; here's my key.
Hello honey. Who is he?

That's okay.
How are you?
What, all of them?
Yeah, me too.

Rushing dinner, walk the dog.
At the gym I run and jog,
And stay exactly where I am,
Like driving in a traffic jam.

Running 'round and 'round all day,
And never really move away.
The chances are tomorrow too
I'll do what every day I do.

A little time at home.
Putting out the bin.
Goodnight, honey.
Who was he again?