The Hunt and the role of the sabs

Despite the law
Despite the will
The red fox gets no break
Trained foxhounds
And the riders
Track chase and partake
The killing of the red fox
A controversial way
Its supposedly rural culture
Thats what the toffs all say

They talk up conservation
A misnomer if you ask me
Pest control
Another hole they dig themselves
For free
The cruelty the savagery
A medieval hunt
“Vulpes vulpes” are the victims
They never are the runt

Living in their earths
The Tod who hear the hounds
In flight
Imagining a wild fox free
Running through the night
Baying hounds their teeth on fire
Slobbering as they go
They call themselves traditionalists
And they know what hunters know.

Trail hunts through peoples gardens
Through quarries we can see
They talk up an old fashioned tale
But a hunting yes they be
Deapite the law they flaunt it
Aggression all the way
Quad bikes myriad range rovers
Hot tempered you can say

Hassle flurry whirl and fuss
Volatile they be
A madness and a frenzied rush
Seen as ecstasy
Unconscious to the plight of souls
Unresponsive to their needs
No qualms about their murdering spree
And if a poor fox bleeds

Its guts torn out its agony
These fine toffs they rejoice
Hoots of laughter
And revelling
Its what they do of choice
As for the sabs they are out there
In all weather ready for
The cut and thrust
Its so unjust
It really is a war