It’s true that Punxsutawney Phil has his day,
yet three days later someone else has a say;
it’s Badger Fray,
good old Badger Fray.
He digs up the ground,
he makes a hell of a sound,
it’s Badger Fray.
Up in Wisconsin he’s at home in the clay,
outside De Pere, a little south of Green Bay;
it’s Badger Fray,
good old Badger Fray.
He deepens a hole,
the scene delightful and droll,
it’s Badger Fray.
The people watch as he gets carried away,
an omnivore with excavate applique;
it‘s Badger Fray,
good old Badger Fray.
He digs in the dirt,
a terra firma expert,
it’s Badger Fray.
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