Well, hunting trip's aren't very nice
At least not with Cheney
Cause his sight's not right on that quailing day
Nor was stability
No, don't trust guns with imbeciles
Harry must agree
"He shot me"

It's not fun today on his Texas ranch
Dick's hunting's at an end
Cause the wind's not right
And he hit the boy his lawyer and his friend
No, don't trust guns with imbeciles
Lazar Tag's the key
Dick Cheney

Quailing
Takes me away, E.R cot right next to Harry

Heard a scream, and bullets peppered thee
I don't mean seasoning

Dick Cheney, he popped a cap in thee
When he's quailing
All shot up with agony
He'd rather LSD
He sure ain't brainy

Quailing
Puts me in pain in where I always feared it would be

Bullets stream in the wind to go hit he
And, eww, it's all bloody

Well, it's not that far from insanity
No licensed, S.O.B
Not on gin, not tight, now his quailing day, just stupidity
All you camo-wearing imbeciles
Drop the gun on three
One, two three

Quailing
Take Dick away to court, arrest blockhead VP
Hunting team? I'd rather play rugby
Unless it's R.I.P