Quite some time ago when I was youngernMaybe eight or ninenA friend of mine had nearly met hisnDeath before his timennOn a day out with his family nownWalking and having funnA farmer saw his head behind a wallnAnd reached for his gunnnHe was paranoid for foxes had beennChewing up his stocknAnd now he prayed for a scapegoatnTo behead upon the blocknnNow I know that's wrong in the first placenBut it's not the point of the songnAnd on this pretty 'culiar daynThe farmer got it wrongnnSometimes I thinknThat my mind's on the blinknThen I look back to this storynI see I do not need a shrinknnYou see my friend had a full head of hairnThe colour of ginger rednNow in the distance the farmer lookednWith a gun aimed at his headnnHe put two plus two together thinkingnRed would equal foxnAs he squeezed the trigger I believenThat he was totally off his boxnnWell my friend was rushed to hospitalnIn an ambulance of griefnAnd his father had a heart attacknIn the shock of disbeliefnnSometimes I thinknThat my mind's on the blinknThen I look back to this storynI see I do not need a shrinknnSometimes I thinknThat my mind's on the blinknThen I look back to this storynI think I do not need a shrinknnNow there's a lesson in this storynAlthough it reached a happy endnThat just coz he's got red hairnDoesn't mean that he's a foxnNo, just coz he's got red hairnDoesn't mean that he's a fox