2019 Belle Plaine Shamrock Hunt

Where can I be, it’s up to me to tell you where I am,
A shot in the dark, I’m in a park, I’m in the traffic jam.
St. Patrick’s Day is on its way, the pride of the Irish,
Bands of Clans are in the plans, nothing Rhymes with Irish?

What’s a treasure hunt, without one Nic Cage,
When medallion hunt winnings turn into a wage.
Yea, RED RYDER, This is the COTTON MOUTH,
In the PSYCHO-BILLY CADILLAC, Come on.

Bless you and yours, get to the stores, green apparel is the trend,
Give it a stab, the gift of gab, call it a Godsend.
The Striped Tomato, it’s not Mankato, she’s a frozen fire,
Get in the Junkerolla, have yourself a cola, no time to tire.

London Fogs and Watch Dogs, it’s part of my world,
You’ll find your bounty in this Scott County, all snug and curled.
The Kookie T or the General Lee, power of the hour,
Slow down the Bandit, try to be candid, it’s time to scour.

My lips are sealed, kind of a shield, get out your bobsled,
Two people can only keep a secret, if the other one is dead.
Strike out on your search, this could be bowling,
Stay on Public Property or heads will be rolling.

My medallion hunt friends, so it begins, this could be good one,
The time is so little to solve this riddle, this isn’t a rerun.
I’m out in the open and I’ll be hoping to survive another week,
Look your best, this is a test, part of the mystique.

Limit your speed, I won’t impede your journey to the prize,
Stop and go, to and fro, now to finalize.
“Space” the final frontier, your quest is near, get to ground zero,
Use the merge, feel the purge, now you’re my hero.

The anchor is part of the angler’s success,
Seek out the Hawk-Eye, don’t be a wise guy, no time to stress.
The eye of the Tiger, the count of a Geiger, here comes the Cannon Ball,
The aid of a cyclops, scream from the roof tops,

I’m in it for the long haul. Superman’s girl, give it a whirl, it’s Lois I think,
Let out the hollers, one hundred dollars, I call it Ch-Ching.
The effect of urban sprawl, no time to stall, time is of the essence,
Go on a hike or take your bike, enjoy your adolescence.

Life could be a dream, let out a scream, St. Patrick’s Day fun,
Let’s spread the news, a Saturday night cruise, you’ve hit a home run.
Erin Go Bragh, There are no flaws, in this joyous event,
Talk to them all, some call it a drawl, I call it an accent.

Welcome to Tigertown, a St. Patrick’s Day pursuit,
Match wits with the Clue Master and earn yourself some loot.
Get here swift, do you get my drift, this could get ugly,
Bring a shovel, this ain’t no hovel, not my view of snugly.

Give me some Latitude, forget the attitude, we’re at forty four,
Figure this out, you have some clout, you’re knocking at the door.
Talk to this Kruschke Guy, no matter why, I’m just a Bill,
He is the Master, can’t you run faster? put on some twill.

Think Alabama or maybe Montana, drive by the big game,
O’Brien and the Dalys, Murphys and Baileys, hail to your family name.
This is a teaser, then look for Weezer, can’t hang on much longer,
The asking rates, not far from the Gates, bring all that you can conjure.

It’s part of the training, what you’ll be gaining is a life time of independence,
to find the prize, it would be wise, to be in attendance.
Practice makes perfect, correct all the defects, I know you’ve been yearning,
Give me a call, the key to this all, is how many candles you are burning.

Don’t fall on your rumpus, bring your golden compass, co-existing with one’s own,
Permit the learners, turn on the burners, get yourself a cone.
It’s all I’ve got, give it a shot, can’t say anymore,
Now remember if you don’t score, I’ll see you in clue number four.