Around these parts they’ve taken to calling it a fucker’s moon,
It comes in late May most years, but sometimes early June.

It shows itself by a dark red blush or perhaps it’s even maroon,
And it's known to make our virgins itch and purr, and swoon.

The boys around here swear that it makes them diamond hard.
Even the noblest of married men are seen prowling from yard to yard.

The oh-so-chaste ladies of our town’s upper class
Seek out rovers and rousers, and caress them on the ass

Near everyone casts about looking for that hidden secret crush,
For this one night passion gets loose and most won’t even blush.

There goes widow Perkins just now, with her sister Mary in tow,
after two boys from the bowery, their cheeks have a reddening glow.

And the Parson’s wife is looking for the Parson now, I heard,
But she’s also got an eye for a tumble, on that you can rest assured.

This moon even gets my goat up, and I’m well on eighty and eight,
Somethin’s twitching in my pants that hasn’t stirred of late.

And Billy, that gentleman farmer, just ran down the lane
Sporting a huge tent in his pants, running without his cane.

Chasing two young farm girls with breasts real firm and taut,
Neither is running all that fast, I think they want to be caught.

My hearing’s been getting worse and worse with each passing year,
but sounds of lust and lovemaking are tickling up each ear.

Something sexy’s happening, someone’s dealing their card,
I look and see the Parson and he’s screwing in my yard.

His ass is rising and falling, he’s really got it working,
Fer sure it ain’t his wife, she’s no redhead, that’s for certain.

I’m guessing it’s the milkman’s girl, judging from her moans,
I know because last year I was the feller that was bouncing on her bones.