Through field and forest, glade and glen
through marshy swamp, bog and fen
We scour the lands, near and far
by bike, boat, train, plain or car
On Farmer Joe's field and country club turf
on a beach, through sand and surf
rip-raging through the countryside
by ABA rules, we do not abide
Over mountain tall, through valley deep
deep in our soul, a flame we keep
Outcasts, nerds, vagabonds, freaks
It is our winged friends whom we seek
Without regard to what they say
our way of life is here to stay
Sunday, March 13, 2011
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