One day I walked the road and crossed a field to go by where the hounds ran
hard
And on the master raced: behind the hunters chased to where the path was
barred
One fine young lady's horse refused the fence to clear
I unlocked the gate but she did wait until the pack had disappeared

Crop-handle carved in bone; sat high upon a throne of finest English
leather
The Queen of all the Pack: this joker raised his hat and talked about the
weather
All should be warned about this high-born Hunting Girl
She took this simple man's downfall in hand; I raised the flag that she
unfurled

Boot leather flashing and spur-necks the size of my thum
This high-born hunter had tastes as strange as they come

Unbridled passion: I took the bit in my teeth
Her standing over: me on my knees underneath

My lady, be discrete I must get to my feet and go back to the farm
Whilst I appreciate you are no deviate, I might come to some harm
I'm not inclined to acts refined, if that's how it goes
Oh, high-born Hunting Girl, I'm just a normal low-born so-and-so