Richard59
Well-known member
Crackshot Capers
To shoot at clays is what we do,
The shooter that follows is this you?
Entering the stand full of style and grace
The shooter proudly set his wares about the place
Pair one two three flew and fell
Oh the glory of a shot in form, so far so well
All was set for a stand of eight to score,
That's when our shot became a bore.
Before the last pair to the crowd the shot an eight is on he flagged
Watch these fall to me was the unwise brag
The shot was set and bellowed pull to which our scorer a button was pressed
The clays were now sent to their test
A spring released, the lever thrown
it was when in the air a seed of doubt was sown
The flight of these clays was fair and true
A gentle arc of black clay against a clear sky so blue
Our shot began to move,
A mount so swift so precise so smooth
At the point where success was last achieved
Our shot the trigger did squeeze
Pin struck cartridge fired
So sure our shot a premature smile
Our clays on their way to be tested
Alas no lead molested
Gently they flew only to land on grass
That's when our shot became an arse
Out of the mouth the obscenities flew
Open the gun the spent cartridges they flew
It was a trick, it was a con
Where those clays really that same as the others that come
Stamping feet and shaking fist
At those clays the shot did miss
Snatching card and scowling face, no this won't do
A gentle smile a kind word or I'd think this shooter is really you
To shoot at clays is what we do,
The shooter that follows is this you?
Entering the stand full of style and grace
The shooter proudly set his wares about the place
Pair one two three flew and fell
Oh the glory of a shot in form, so far so well
All was set for a stand of eight to score,
That's when our shot became a bore.
Before the last pair to the crowd the shot an eight is on he flagged
Watch these fall to me was the unwise brag
The shot was set and bellowed pull to which our scorer a button was pressed
The clays were now sent to their test
A spring released, the lever thrown
it was when in the air a seed of doubt was sown
The flight of these clays was fair and true
A gentle arc of black clay against a clear sky so blue
Our shot began to move,
A mount so swift so precise so smooth
At the point where success was last achieved
Our shot the trigger did squeeze
Pin struck cartridge fired
So sure our shot a premature smile
Our clays on their way to be tested
Alas no lead molested
Gently they flew only to land on grass
That's when our shot became an arse
Out of the mouth the obscenities flew
Open the gun the spent cartridges they flew
It was a trick, it was a con
Where those clays really that same as the others that come
Stamping feet and shaking fist
At those clays the shot did miss
Snatching card and scowling face, no this won't do
A gentle smile a kind word or I'd think this shooter is really you
