For the trophy on the wall

In my lifetime
Those majestic Lions
Their eternity assured
The very kings of Africa
With their presence
They had scored
A realness and an essence
Essential to the way
Africa was blooming
In a truly grounded way

250,000 and they stood for something
Great prides stalked the countryside
Their Nirvana clear
Then man the great white hunter
Crept across their scene
With guns a blazing and ego’s raising
No King nor Queen

Could touch the power of lead
Those bullets enter and devour
They tear into the liver
And they pull away the power
A head up on a trophy wall
To gather aeons of dust
The Hunter man feels joyful
The rest of us disgust

A tail a paw the skin
Made into a rug upon the floor
The spoils were now seen everywhere
The poor Lions were at war
The ammunition sellers
The safari clubs were born
The farmers stopped growing
Canned hunting the new dawn

Broke across this Africa
The new Africa where doubt
Where reluctance and untimeliness
Were worth a second shout
Hunting was in fashion
It brought currency to bear
And the great Kings bore the brunt of it
Looking back it was far from fair

But some were making money
The enterprise was there
Importing assassins
With vast wealth all could share
The margins were phenomenal
And the market it did build
Flagrantly and blatantly
They all increased their yield

What a wretched business
What a waste of land
The miracle of creation
They couldn’t understand
Arrogance took over
Lion after Lion they shot
Man was super normal
And was earning a lot

Canned and trophy hunting
The safari’s far away
Selling all those packages
With guarantees you pay
Whatever and you catch and kill
That is what you do
Its not days and days of tracking
And perhaps no kills for you

With canned hunting you choose
Your prey
The actual Lion maybe
Or Leopard or whatever
You can afford then you can see
Caged up near to humans
And let out just so you
Can shoot whatever animal
If capable and true

Otherwise the safari men
Will let their bullets fly
And you can return to wherever
With a lions head which is why
So many would be hunters came
They couldn’t shoot for shit
But you pay the price and you do feel nice
Going home with it

On the trophy wall the courageous head
You were told, you had gunned down
So the hunter man is happy
And all around his town
People so admire him
An arse with a gun who goes
To AFRica and bags a Lion
And who cares, no one knows

So he has bought some self respect
Though deep down inside some feel
That really he’s wanker
With so little appeal
Times of course are changing
The hunters they still go
They have shot and killed great armies
And the population know

The war has been so telling
now very few exist
lions are bred to be shot down
And that just makes me pissed
And many more besides who realise
Creations gift
Is being cut to ribbons by the
By what is a fucking rift

They do not care for AFRICA
And Lions too,are now seen
As cash cows pure and simple
The whole thing is obscene
Shipping out the Lion bones
As tiger bones has now
Developed into another business
You may now ask how

Chinese traditional medicine
Holds tigers as supreme
So lies are told and Lion bones are sold
As Tiger its a dream
Huge amounts of money
Change hands across the world
The Lion numbers are dwindling
The whole damn business hurled

Its darkly criminality
And the victims surely are
The great Lion Kings of Africa
Who now no longer star
They have been decimated
Ans with more new petting zoo’s
Taking on the volunteers
Again its one big ruse

Capturing the hearts and minds
Of people far away
And just getting cheap labour in
To pass the time of day
The animals see humans
As friendly which means they
Are kept in cages all their life
Till the chosen day

When the pot bellied foreigner
Turns up to claim his prize
And the old cage door is open
Few there to realise
The caged lion petted all its life
Is in an enclosure where
The hunter takes aim and shoots dead
You see the great despair

And the market has so grown and grown
As have the lies around
Its conservation hunting
It has a perfect sound
And the ignorant believe it
And the farmers make a mint
The lions have become the victims
And yes receive a glint

Of sunlight and the blue sky
A backdrop for it all
Its The slaughter of the innocent
For the trophy on the wall

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