Brock the night hunter

Brock the night hunter
They’re after his blood
It seems cos he’s wild
And he lives in the mud
And has been there for aeons
So he’s in the wrong
Not the sick cattle
on concrete, the pong
coming off of decisons
to cull ha ha ha
Its farmer based claptrap
And Spellman’s no star
In my book alas I don’t care
what she feels
I think she is stubborn
Ignoring appeals
Ungulates chew the cud
thats what they do
they stand in the pasture
Instinctively view
The clover the other pot herbs
and the rest
Self medication
is what they know best
But its keep them inside
On cold concrete floors
Control what they eat
Behind the closed doors
Raise sickly animals
and when they get
TB blame Badgers
Deep in their sett

Living on concrete
inside, I’d react
Honestly this is a matter
of fact
We don’t need science
To tell us whats right
Just knowing the animals
Oh! yes in spite
of the farmers, their profits
sadly alas
Not one prophet amongst them
the whole thing is crass
And Brock’s going to suffer
He’s going to die
And it seems just by
pointing this out
Now that I
have terrorist tendencies
Well let me say
Its a pretty sick world
When the wild ones must pay