This is a tale about a creature who lives in the forest.
Somewhere in the densest,
Naysayers say there’s not enough to go around…
…can’t have big feet…
…if there’s nothing to eat…
…if there’s not enough to mate…
…that’s the kind of stuff people regurgitate.
Bigfoot is just a myth, legend or story.
The shaky proof is not absolute,
looks like a fat fuck wearing an ape suit.
Infrared cameras on 24-hour watch,
would have recorded that mythological Sasquatch.
Those big footprints were made by a prankster!
Ain’t nothin’ but cheap plaster.
That ain’t it.
Scientist proved it was an old pile of dog shit.
Gotta give up a finger or toe.
Something real to show.
Check behind your neighbor’s fence.
Dig up some of that physical evidence.
Smells like imagination has gone septic.
Stop calling yourself a skeptic.
Hoax or goof,
Here’s why we don’t need proof.
Don’t eat none of that aged malarkey.
They got all their information from watchin’ an imposter on TV,
hawkin’ Jack Link’s beef jerky.
Turn off those channel stations,
put in a VHS,
learn something from Henry and the Hendersons.
Got it all wrong.
Leave these external places.
Search within our internal spaces.
that’s the point of it all,
even if all we find is nothing.
Bigfoot could live in the darkest shadows.
Perhaps sit on top of a mountain,
somewhere on the tallest,
Close your eyes.
Search your inner lair.
Bigfoot is there.