Glorious 12th

With deceitfulness Apparent
And insincerity
The guns are waiting
The beaters beating
We shall soon be history
Red grouse that’s our claim to fame
Frightened we must fly
Up above the moorlands
And all prepare to die

Below us it’s the rich men
Wheeler dealers who
Are waiting rifles ready
Pointing to the blue
We are good at flying
But their wish is to kill
Most of them have money
And soon we shall be still

Kicking in the moorland
Lost to kingdom come
Hit by shot a plenty
And down alas we come
The dogs no doubt will fetch us
Gather us at will
The glorious 12 th has now begun
And our blood they will spill

A lot of raptors already
Have hit the ground for sure
Hen harriers and owls and others
Shot down on the moor
Wildness our Veracity
In everything we do
What could be more negative
Than following folk like you

Many of us massacred
Wiped out of the sky
The Inelegance and awkwardness
Of the speechless souls that lie
Broken torn by flying lead
Lost for evermore
Tonight’s conversation
Will be tomorrow
More for sure

What’s glorious about our deaths
To us a shocking state
The so called rich the banking class
And the city folk whose date
Is with a feathered tribe of souls
The striven driven grouse
Up against the powerful guns
And one hopes soon the courthouse

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