SFH3 Run #2067: last 2021 trail:)
: 12/27/2021
: forest hill muni station
: Cuming Mutha and On All Fours
: Do Her Well


The Open Beer Van (to the tune of The Northwest Passage)

 

Ah, for just one time, I would walk towards the beer van,

To find the gaze of Hand Pump pointing to the tapped keg,

Tracing one backcheck through a trail so wild and savage,

To find the true trail pointing back at me.

 

Westward from Forest Hill tis there 'twas said to lie,

A trail of Cuming Mutha, for which so few would try,

Seeking flour and chalk, grinding weathered, aged bones

Even Dick Ass Mother Fucker would groan.

 

Ah, for just one time, I would walk towards the beer van,

To find the gaze of Hand Pump pointing to the tapped keg,

Tracing one backcheck through a trail so wild and savage,

To find the true trail pointing back at me.

 

Ten minutes before the start time the pack took off overland,

Just Doesn't Get It screaming 'On on!; it's too cold for any man,'

Tonya Hardon runs before me, and behind Dickweed begins,

The latest DFL, Jack The Ripper crawling in.

 

Ah, for just one time, I would walk towards the beer van,

To find the gaze of Hand Pump pointing to the tapped keg,

Tracing one backcheck through a trail so wild and savage,

To find the true trail pointing back at me.

 

And through the night behind the pack, the walkers move abreast,

Muff Daddy with his iPhone, Do Her Well correcting him,

Backwash proceeding forward after they had come on in,

To find the pack in circle, off key,

 

Ah, for just one time, I would walk towards the beer van,

To find the gaze of Hand Pump pointing to the tapped keg,

Tracing one backcheck through a trail so wild and savage,

To find the true trail pointing back at me.

 

How then am I so different from all the FRBs?

Like them, I left a heated house, I let the cold take me,

To seek out Wash This Asshole shivering in the wind,

And to fend the raccoons from the open van.

 

Ah, for just one time, I would walk towards the beer van,

To find the gaze of Hand Pump pointing to the tapped keg,

Tracing one backcheck through a trail so wild and savage,

To find the true trail pointing back at me.