Hen harriers

The raptors lament
It’s the wildest of cry
Trapping the beauties
It’s really no lie
They are out there
Protecting the red grouse
They say
Driven they are driven
To making it pay

The glorious twelfth
When it happens to be
Shooters are out
For their bag
It their key
Motivational guide
With their money and nouse
They are shooting their way
Through the beautiful grouse

Here we see a hen harrier
Stolen away
Trapped in a contraption
And and been made to pay
For predation a risk
To the grouse moors alas
And the making of money
Which to my mind is crass

They are crimes and the shooters
Most are aware
Scotland is at it
The wing and the prayer
Reducing the risks
To the finest of game
The red grouse
And shooting it
Is great they claim

Murdering scumbags
That’s all they are
Sport of the kings
And the moorlands afar
The rich and well heeled
Are out there all day
Slaughtering birds
That get in their way

It’s a lack of intelligence
If you ask me
A low mental age
There’s nothing glorious
About killing birds
It’s short sighted and unseemly
My play on words

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