In the bottoms, In the night

Hot summer nights and you can hear them hounds callin' down in the bottoms. They're on the chase. Up one holler and down another; tongues just a hangin' out. Gasping for air in this humid night.

Never once do they think of quittin'. They won't stop 'till somethin's treed, caught or gone.

Listen to 'em down there. It's what they was borned for. It's what they do. Just them and the night and the quarry. They don't have to plan it, or draw it out, or even think how or why.

They just do it; 'cause that's what they are.