To the hags of the world (sorry no punches pulled here)

I’m in the skin
its the skin
I’m in
I was born with
and it did grow
it’s my skin
though that’s wearing thin
you want my skin covering your skin
oh!
not my skin over your skin
but my skin
over those
clothes
you wear over your skin
but that skin, on me grows
so what you do
is get some trapper
to trap me, somewhere
when he’s going to the woods
he lays his trap, aware
that it may bust my spinal cord
perhaps will trap a leg
and for hours I may be dying
trying hard to beg
humanity to hasten, my blood loss
so I die
and then you get more poor sods
to cure the skin, and why
cos otherwise dead skin goes off
it begins to stink
so treat it all with chemicals
nod nod that’s right wink wink!
and, so in some cases
they hang us on a hook
and pull our skins right off of us
such pain when brought to book
is infamous
we shudder
shake, cry out like mad
but you who wear our fur don’t care
because ofcourse your bad
you tell the world your beautiful
you sing, you dance, you act
and parade about in dead skin
from murders, and that’s a fact
professing to love animals
professing that you are
you don’t care that your not aware
that the evidence is stacked
up against you ladies
and gents who wear our fur
your uglier than sin you are
and in fact you always were