WET SPOT'S WAIL

Source: Horntip Collection - Half-Mind Hymnal 2011

Lyrics

By Mouthful, Oregon HHH

Let me tell you the story of a Hasher named Wetspots on a tragic and fateful day. She put flour in her pocket, kissed her best man Stinky and proceeded to lay the trail.

Oh … The … Trail it was abysmal and the checks they were pathetic and the logic just didn’t jibe. She left beer in Hobo Heaven, thought it actually would stay there and continued to keep on smilin’.

Well the hounds said “It’s outrageous,” and the co-Hare was adamant, that ol’ Wetspots was our blond friend. But dear Wetspots didn’t get it. Kept on telling us we loved it. Was determined to hash without end.

Oh will she ever return, no she’ll never return. She is banned from laying trail. She may run with us tomorrow, but her Hare we will not follow. She is banned from laying trail.

She decided she would greet us at the tavern she would meet us. She was greeted with so much rage. And after produce row she led us, from the city then she sped us. Now her half-mind was unengaged.

Oh will she ever return, no she’ll never return. She is banned from laying trail. She may run with us tomorrow, but her Hare we will not follow. She is banned from laying trail.

After Hal’s the Hounds took action, ‘twas a desperate reaction, and they followed the Hares outside. In four blocks they saw the reason, why the trail it wasn’t pleasin’ as the Hares prepared to drive.

Oh will she ever return, no she’ll never return. She is banned from laying trail. She may run with us tomorrow, but her Hare we will not follow. She is banned from laying trail.

Then our most exalted Tyrant stuck his head inside her window and proceeded to grab her keys. There she sat in all that traffic, and the hounds they were a laughing, ‘til her shorts came off over her knees.

Oh will she ever return, no she’ll never return. She is banned from laying trail. She may run with us tomorrow, but her Hare we will not follow. She is banned from laying trail.

At … Old … Town … Pizza we assembled for a session that resembled something of a lynch partee. Each had found his own way back, but we were ne’er again on track for no flour did we see.

It was a Horrid Hash disaster, that will live for ever after in the annals of infamy … As the day when our dear Wetspots grabbed her final sack of flour and she sealed her destiny.

Oh will she ever return, no she’ll never return. She is banned from laying trail. She may run with us tomorrow, but her Hare we will not follow. She is banned from laying trail.