Another summer has passed away, another field has gone to hay.
It's close to season, another reason, for making Woodies.
The broadheads filed, the shavings piled, the nuts are falling....the squirrels are wild;
No need to reason....tis' just the season, for making Woodies.
When you have got the fever, there's nothing that works as good;
As gathering nocks and fletching, and working with shafts of wood....
So go ahead, and set the clamp; you need some Scotchgard...in case it's damp.
No need to reason, we need no season, for making Woodies.