The Massacre

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Now this is the story, of two fairly brave men,

Who have met their match, and I'll tell you all when.

They went out with the boys, to quaff just a few,

Right down to the P. A. C., traveled the two.

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When the action down there, did not suit their taste,

They moved right along, with some time they could waste.

To the old Blarney Stone, right down in Gastown,

Our heroes were headed, to toss a few down.

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Their mission completed, the two headed out,

When they came face to face, with an Indian scout.

A clash then developed, where push led to shove,

It was easy to see, this was not puppy love.

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But before it exploded, the boys looked around,

Where they saw the scouts friends, were not giving ground.

Twenty or thirty, surrounded the pair,

At the sight of this mob, they were left sucking air.

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Discretion is called, the best part of valor,

So being outnumbered, these two knew the score.

They turned on the jets, and ran down the street,

Going so fast that, ground did not meet feet.

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But then our two men, David and Curt,

Headed on back, their pride had been hurt.

So into the fray, they waded with glee,

To remake the Battle, at old Wounded Knee.

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Instead this big fight, in our own native land,

Resembled quite closely, General Custer's last stand.

Unlike that great slaughter, our boys are alive,

Mostly because, our troops did arrive.

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One final note, in this quite lengthy tale,

Is involving a rock, that some female let sail.

It missed Curt and Dave, hit the Indian scout,

And darned if that rock, didn't knock him right out.

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So I guess you could say, that the rock as now rolled,

No more will our heroes, dare to be bold.

Care will be taken, when they go out to drink,

At least while the two of them, work in the clink.

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P. C. 664 T. J. Gowdyk 88-11-19 (52a)