Oh the goose and the geese, the moose and

Oh the goose and the geese, the moose and the meese, I am loose with the lease, I drink booze with the bees.

And praise their bare knees. I'm uncooth and have fleas, drink vermouth with headcheese, but wise as Socrates. I'm the Woods poet coming at you live with barky rinds and

gnarly rhymes. I'm a highway-hatin, bulldozer castratin, outdoors masturbatin, son of a son of a frontier man. I once got busy in the crown of an oak tree. I'm the Woods Poet, don'

I stalked my next victim before i realized i need to go to church more often and if i keep sinning i will most likely be going to hell.

Then I realised that murdering a bunch of six-year-olds back in '06 had probably already netted me a place in hell, so I continued to stalk my next victim.

I had never read Crime and Punishment, so the idea of redemption was beyond me, but it wouldn't stop me from stalking John Grisham and bleeding him like a stuck

hound dog surrounded by ducks. I shot John Grisham, he turned out to be the sheriff, but not a deputy. I had a bounty as the "Vigilante missing his bearings," due to my mistake.

I had to become a hunting dog as quickly as possible. Thanks to this being a folding story, I was able to pull this off before the deputy could find out. My hunting dog pack was

So I spent my last days as a junior manager of a McDonalds in Cleveland. I worked, I went home, I watched TV. I spoke to no-one. And I was happy for the first time in my life.