The shack is wide and rangey, with bunks built up around,
While on the walls the trophies of the flood and field abound;
The horns of elk and moose, the skins of foxes, beavers, mink,
Keep glossy guard above the horde that gaily eat and drink;
It's oh, the famous yarns we tell and famous yarns we hear,
And we taste the grateful viands or we quaff the foaming beer;
And many a lively song we sing and many a joke we crack
When we're guests of Louis Auer at his Lake Pewaukee shack.
No wonder that too swiftly speed the happy hours away
In the company of Silverman and Underwood and Shea;