Saskatchewan Son-of-a-Gun

Words & Music by Tim Hus
Copyright Tim Hus Music 2010

The prairie is a place, you can watch your dog run away for days
Golden fields of wheat as far as you can see
There’s nowhere in the whole world with more Richardson’s ground squirrels
Grain elevators in a line out in the land of the living skies

When you see me counting rabbits on a can
Wearin’ the pride of the thirteenth man
Hear about all of the curling I done
Well, there ain’t no doubt just where I’m from:
I’m a Pilsner drinkin’, whitetail huntin’
Purple burnin’, stubble jumpin’
Slough boggin’, prairie doggin’
Rod and reelin’, snowmobilin’
Genuine big sky son-of-a-gun
From Saskatchewan!

Everywhere that I have been from Estevan up to Creighton
Meadow Lake to Speedy Creek and everyplace in between
Street so wide on the main drag you can drive a combine to the bank
And if I won a million, son, I’d keep farmin' ‘till it's gone

I threw away my Almanac, moved away but I came back
I would’ve been a damn fool to climb out of the wheat pool
Out there on the grid road, droppin’ the blade on the snowplow
Take ‘er easy and take ‘er slow there’s two miles of ditch for every mile of road


My gal’s an aggie up at Toontown she always orders a double round
Fine trailer and a sweet chasis ain’t got nothin’ on my Massey
She’s a tailgate party queen the roughest rider you ever seen
Moose Jaw and Indian Head, it ain’t as flat as everyone says

So I guess I’ll bid farewell and head on down to the Bonspiel
We might lose, we might win, we’ll surely do a lot of drinkin’
Back fourty moonshine, homemade chokecherry wine
Grab your broom and let’s get goin’ , this is where I’m born and where I’m from