Santa is a bushcrafter too,
How else does he know what to get me?
A non special knife just wont do,
Will santa this year forget me?
I cant blame the wife she's suffered all her life,
With my bushcraft fascination,
So if santa dont come - one things to be done,
Father Christmas Assasination!
I'll whittle the tree in to a bow and arrows you see,
And wait for the old fellow that night.
And if he comes the chimney or Stair,
I'll skewer there him - just right!
There in the dark in my swanni and hat,
I feel like a kinda of wolly.
As I cry out in pain again and again,
Cos' I pricked myself on the Holly.
Alone in the dark I hear a fox bark,
Then an owl calls softy outside,
Dropping my bow I hurry and go,
Back up to my big bed and hide!!
When morning doth come I welcome the sun,
But remember how my legs turned to jelly,
This bushcrafting game if its all the same,
I'll just watch on the telly.