Gun shoot, eat boar. Gunned food.

Wench like fellas that you may see. . .
There’s hunts for moose—sliced meat for free.

’cause she’s a tracks ma’am,
Yeah, she can track, man.

Her knife can rend a deer that falls;
She’s manly. . .got a pair o’ balls.

’cause she’s a tracks ma’am
Yeah, yeah, she can track, man.

She can knife a b’ar, an easy feat;
Her sharp knife will slit that mammoth meat.
If she gets too cold, she won’t retreat
Till she can walk off with her bagged treat,
Tracks ma’am.

[slit b’ar solo]

She’s an attack ma’am,
Nerve-won’t-go-slack ma’am.

She’ll whack a feckless feral boar,
Whack ma’am, yeah, she’ll kill ’em
And drag ’em over tundra’s floor.
Gat jammed? . . .rip with teeth!

’cause she’s a whack ma’am,
And she can track, man.

She’ll fire to ice some wolves. . .they’ll die
(Whacks ma’am)
This fare she’d rather shoot from sky
(’ttack plan)

That’s the attack plan:
Sewardess [sic] whack ma’am.

Her wolf jerky is oh so tasty!

Snacks ma’am.