Tonight… deep in the American wilderness…

Four grown men with GoPros, beef sticks,

and a deeply questionable understanding of biology

attempt to locate an eight-hundred-pound primate…

Using fireworks.

Science… will not be involved.

Out in the woods with a GoPro and snacks

They set up camp with beer and thumbtacks

Lit a fuse on a patriotic boomstick

Said “He’ll show up mad, or at least real quick.”

Narrator:

Because if you're gonna catch Bigfoot, folks,

you better bring combos and beef sticks…

it's a long night.

They marked the ground with thumbtacks and pride

Claimed it was tactical forest-side guide

One man whispered, “This feels legit”

Another said, “Did we pack the dip?”

“Bigfoot’s smart,” Bobo declares with pride

While duct-taping ham to a four-wheeler’s side

“Smarter than me,” he says with a grin

As he dives in a bush wearing bear urine.

Narrator:

Bobo once failed a logic test written in crayon.

But he means well.

The crew nods like prophets of pine

As Bobo howls at the treeline

One guy asks, “Is that the call?”

Another whispers, “That’s just Paul.”

Bigfoot hunters lightin’ the night

Firing bottle rockets full of ‘Merican might

Scarin’ off owls and confusing a moose

While Bigfoot watches on sipping orange juice

Narrator:

He prefers Tropicana.

Pulp free.

They set up lasers and tripwire cams

But caught only raccoons and that guy named Sam

Sam wasn’t part of the hunt per se

He just wandered in drunk with a lawn display.

Pink flamingos stuck in the dirt

Someone shouted “Evidence alert!”

Turns out Sam just lost his truck

And followed the noise and dumb luck.

Narrator:

Flamingos do not attract cryptids.

We’ve tested it.

Bobo found tracks near a muddy creek bed

Measured them twice then scratched his head

“Ten feet tall by the look of the stride!”

Turns out it was Randy’s inflatable bride.

Narrator:

Randy has been warned about bringing that.

One guy whispered “Stay real still”

Another cracked open a Busch Light chill

Three hours later, nerves all shot

They realized they forgot the spot.

Bobo speaks with solemn regard:

“See, Bigfoot won’t come if you're thinkin’ too hard

You gotta feel it… deep in your lard

Your spiritual lard… that's the part.”

Narrator:

To this day… we don’t know what spiritual lard is.

Bigfoot hunters sparklers in hand

Calling out “Squatch!” like it’s a rock band

Bottle rockets screaming through the trees

Forest creatures filing noise complaints with ease

They scared off elk and one lost priest

While Bigfoot yawns — eight hundred pounds of peace

Meditating somewhere in the pine

Thinking “These idiots found me again… fine.”

Bigfoot's Perspective

Deep in the woods on a mossy seat

Bigfoot kicks back with trail mix to eat

Watching the circus down below

“Yep… that show again. Time to go.”

“Bang those sticks boys, shout my name

I’ll walk north and do the same

Long as they yell and shoot the sky

They tell me exactly where not to try.”

Bigfoot hunters lighting the night

Firing rockets like cryptid dynamite

While somewhere deeper in cedar and pine

Bigfoot laughs and sips his wine.

Cabernet. Vintage 1978.

He’s cultured.

[Outro ] – Campfire Lament

And as the forest sighs and smoke clears out

They pack their gear with heroic doubt

“He was close,” Bobo says with a stare

“Left me a message… in that flattened chair.”

Narrator:

Or Bobo sat down too hard.

Either way… history.