Shootin’ people in the afternoon,
fleein’ when I’m finished—and quite soon.
I sneak up behind them, and then I get ’em,
though must of the time I have never met ’em.
I come upon them sneakily; sometimes I’m
dupin’ ’em and then I make my move.
Dudes ’n’ gals often do not approve.

But they never have time to say to me:
“I wish you’d stop; you’re making me crazy!”
I take ’em unawares and then retreat, post-
shootin’; it is what I love to do.
Feelings of remorse to not ensue.
Oh no. No, no.

I Ieave ’em gasping, then I run away.
There is no doubt that many nerves I fray.
It’s only metaphorically I slay.
Lives do not ended be…death photographically.

Shootin’—sometimes with my lens I zoom;
peepin’ through that lens, I loudly croon.
Do, re, mi do.

Croonin’…
“Shut up, shut up!”