[Instrumental] One day I walked the road and crossed a field to go by where the hounds ran hard. And on the master raced: behind the hunters chased to where the path was barred. One fine young lady's horse refused the fence to clear. I unlocked the gate but she did wait until the pack had disappeared. Crop-handle carved in bone; sat high upon a throne of finest English Leather. The Queen of all the Pack: this joker raised his hat and talked about the weather. All should be warned about this high-born Hunting Girl. She took this simple man's downfall in hand; I raised the flag that she unfurled. Boot leather flashing and spur-necks the size of my thumb. This high-born hunter had tastes as strange as they come. Unbridled passion: I took the bit in my teeth. Her standing over: me on my knees underneath. [Instrumental] My lady, be discrete. I must get to my feet and go back to the farm. Whilst I appreciate you are no deviate, I might come to some harm. I'm not inclined to acts refined, if that's how it goes. Oh, high-born Hunting Girl, I'm just a normal low-born so-and-so.
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