Clumsy Hunter, you saw me as your trophy hunting practice, didn’t you?
Just there to show you that you can.
No dates, no calls, only texts prompting me to see
You in Motel 6 room 208.
You said you couldn’t say, “I Love you” crying like a baby in my arms.
You said you were afraid to hurt my feelings, so you were throwing out new game.
Clumsy Hunter, what about the GUTSHOT wound that was to be avoided?
Facebook activated to find more than just a friend?
Psychological shocker- hit me straight in the gut.
Now I’m slowly bleeding while you’re looking for new quarry.
The practice that I gave you elevated you to Jim Corbett status didn’t it?
Blowing bleating whistles on your YouTube videos
trying to attract new doe, cuz you’re ready for fresh venison, I see.
But there is something you must know.
You’re not a legendary hunter yet.
Clumsy Hunter, you’re attracting fawn instead.
Not everyone is like me, Clumsy Hunter,
Your grunts and whistles sound like blows to other doe,
You wanna take advantage of the Rut, I see.
You’ve sharpened up your knife, you’ve loaded up your gun,
You’re ready to point your arrow at a new bullseye,
cuz you’ve practiced long enough with me-- your default.
You said, “I’m sorry for not caring,”
What a load of crap!
You left me bawling suffering in pain,
Memento Mori of a booty call.
