This is the poem of the hunter's son as he tracks the woods alone
And the beaver's revenge when he seeks to avenge the hunter's gauntlet thrown
By choosing to pair with a grizzly bear, big, nasty and fully grown.
He was raised in the woods and meadow where ice and forest collide
In the Peace River reach where fathers still teach their sons how to hunt and provide
Young Scott was in search of the beaver. The country was thick with'em then.
Traps were his love but he wasn't above a rifle shot now and again.
He snuck through the woods like a shadow and stopped just short of a spring.
There on the bank like a person of rank sat Oscar, the Beaver King
He was big as a Yellowknife huskie and humming a Rachmaninov
Scott froze in his tracks, Oscar never looked back till he heard the safety click off.
Then he rolled like a log to the water. The bullet sang just by his ear
Though caught unaware he escaped by a hair and Scott saw the King disappear
Scott cursed his bad luck 'cause ol' Oscar had beaten him just like before
So he turned on the trail, like a dog tuckin' tail and headed back home sad and sore.
But his path was impeded in progress by a bear with a griz pedigree.
He was hungry and large, so when he made a charge Scott climbed up a poplar tree.
He clum till the tree started bendin', twenty feet up off the ground
He sat crotch while the bear carved a notch each time that he circled around.
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