The trapping business got tough,
The bloody government interfered,
And Old Joe’s livelihood,
All but disappeared.
The greenies said don’t do that,
Sometime in sixty two,
And Old Joe painfully wondered,
Just what it was he’d do.
He joined a building company,
They sold timber and bags of lime,
He got a job driving trucks there,
They put him on full time.
You always knew he missed the life,
The freedom that he had,
And it broke my heart as a little kid,
That sad memory of my dad.
His spirit seemed so broken then,
That’s my memory of his plight,
He meandered fairly aimlessly,
No money to raise a fight.
He had no desire to drive trucks,
It was just something he could do,
And marriage troubles beckoned,
The kids needed feeding too!
A recovery would never come,
Old Joe’s trapping days were over,
And to re-live all the glory days,
Would need a four leaf clover.
I hate the way they shut him down,
Those bastards never knew,
That Old Joe bird trapper,
Was the greatest man I ever knew?