Springtime comes to Lake St. Gunnigan at last
The scattered bodies left from the winter's activity
Just start to poke up through the melting snow
Among the formal flower beds on the mayor's front lawn
Where the first budding flowers are peeking up to the light in neat little rows
Set back from the road twenty five yards or so
A two story tudor made of brick and square stone
Backed up to the long arm of the lake
Informally called Mayoral Bay
Where in the deep summertime the parties go late amidst the lit torches and the paving block patio the colour of bone
Along the West side of the property is a sparse wood of mixed conifer and hardwood
Where just about this time of March the ground softens just enough to dig a grave
And the silent servants from the sub-basement will be busy for weeks
Breaking spade and shovel handles
Only to return them to the Home Depot in Rapid City
For a no hassle exchange to get right back at it
This winter was long and dark with the snow lying deep upon the shifting ice of the lake
And the newest snowmobiles favored by the tourists are these days so very fast
Evading all but the most attractive of the traditional hooks claws and traps
Resulting in a meager five and one half holes to be dug
The strange man from New York (city unspecified)
Was so very entertaining for everyone at the pub
Right up until the second he died
Leaving his roll of cash and cashmere coat
To generously fund the honeymoon of the village treasurer and his teenaged bride
A woman from Alabama with blood so blue
That you might have done her in too
With her terrible jokes and horsefaced laugh
Making the mistake of poking fun at the local St. Gunnigan white trash
So quicker than you can say
"If that isn't the pot calling the kettle...."
She was as dead as the guy from that unspecified city in New York
The family from Wisconsin should really be classed as an accident
Though their rabid pet badger should not
Chased far out onto the ice with their hearts in their throats
Straight out from Salvage Yard Sal's property back on the 'L'
Their Ford Bronco was now just another chassis in the Ford row
To slowly sink into the ground giving more places for weeds to grow
By the time the family was fished out of the ice hole they fell into
That mom dad and too old to still be at home neer do well son
Were popsicle people only suitable for deposit in the Mayor's front garden
And that rabid badger got out of the Bronco soon after and the Sheriff had to shoot him with his gun
Soon the evidence will be gone just like every year past
The tourist trap signs will be set out to guide more people to the lake
And the mayor will tour his West property
To see how many more holes the woods can take
Just start to poke up through the melting snow
Among the formal flower beds on the mayor's front lawn
Where the first budding flowers are peeking up to the light in neat little rows
Set back from the road twenty five yards or so
A two story tudor made of brick and square stone
Backed up to the long arm of the lake
Informally called Mayoral Bay
Where in the deep summertime the parties go late amidst the lit torches and the paving block patio the colour of bone
Along the West side of the property is a sparse wood of mixed conifer and hardwood
Where just about this time of March the ground softens just enough to dig a grave
And the silent servants from the sub-basement will be busy for weeks
Breaking spade and shovel handles
Only to return them to the Home Depot in Rapid City
For a no hassle exchange to get right back at it
This winter was long and dark with the snow lying deep upon the shifting ice of the lake
And the newest snowmobiles favored by the tourists are these days so very fast
Evading all but the most attractive of the traditional hooks claws and traps
Resulting in a meager five and one half holes to be dug
The strange man from New York (city unspecified)
Was so very entertaining for everyone at the pub
Right up until the second he died
Leaving his roll of cash and cashmere coat
To generously fund the honeymoon of the village treasurer and his teenaged bride
A woman from Alabama with blood so blue
That you might have done her in too
With her terrible jokes and horsefaced laugh
Making the mistake of poking fun at the local St. Gunnigan white trash
So quicker than you can say
"If that isn't the pot calling the kettle...."
She was as dead as the guy from that unspecified city in New York
The family from Wisconsin should really be classed as an accident
Though their rabid pet badger should not
Chased far out onto the ice with their hearts in their throats
Straight out from Salvage Yard Sal's property back on the 'L'
Their Ford Bronco was now just another chassis in the Ford row
To slowly sink into the ground giving more places for weeds to grow
By the time the family was fished out of the ice hole they fell into
That mom dad and too old to still be at home neer do well son
Were popsicle people only suitable for deposit in the Mayor's front garden
And that rabid badger got out of the Bronco soon after and the Sheriff had to shoot him with his gun
Soon the evidence will be gone just like every year past
The tourist trap signs will be set out to guide more people to the lake
And the mayor will tour his West property
To see how many more holes the woods can take
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