Here I sit again, oh Lord with a bow in my hand the mystical arrow nocked in.
Peering through the mornings darkness, perched in my brush blind.
The silence is broken by the sound
of geese flying up the river.
The morning air is chilly
and I start to shiver.
Lord, you know I am due a little luck, and I start to wonder, will this be the day.
That I come face to face with that old wiley buck?
As the sun rise and the light breaks through the trees over the Texas prairie I hear the sound of breaking limbs and something walking through the dormant grass.
My heart begins to pound and as I draw my bow to shoot, I realize its to late for behind be a single shot rings out and the big buck has met its fate.
All my dreams vanish as I watch the ten point fall.
Lord I already had him mounted
and hanging on my wall.
So Father when my last hunt is over
and I leave these woods behind, I would like to ask a favor, if you would be so kind.
That when I enter through the Pearly Gates and come into your Glory Land.
Instead of the mansion you promised, Lord how about just an old brush blind?
