The Fur Trader’s profit compared to the trappers/hunters/skinners and the rest

The man on the ground
the hunter, the trapper
he lays his traps
he may not look dapper
clad in his furs
and his boots
well who knows
he won’t be a man
converted to prose

he skulks out at night
and he knows the lay
of the land where the wild one’s walk
night and day
he is close to it all
but a murderer still
torturing wild souls
their blood he will spill

he may have to slaughter them
if they’re still alive
not much at all
will therefore survive
a boot in the guts
or a knife in the head
whatever you do
he is profit led

he won’t get a lot
so he needs to kill more
its all about death
and fcuk Natural Law

The hunter well they are
out there for their sport
and gratification
of the sexual sort
armed to the teeth
in their camouflage gear
just out for blood
they make that quite clear

some are the trophy mob
the lowest of low
hand over the money
and the animals flow
by, its orchestrated
its done in a pen
guaranteed hunting
you tell us when
again if there’s skins
then these are the men

farmers of wild folk
camps for the cruel
terrible conditions
that would appal
anyone looking
so they tend to be
out in the sticks
where no one can see

and the city folk care not
they dont hear the cries
they dont feel the pain
thats about the size
insanity rules
caged up till they die
injured and bored
and most commonly lie
that very thin wire
its cuts into their feet
its a terrible prison
which has to unseat
their souls
by the time they are killed
they dont care
an electric prod
up their anus they share

bite down on this mate
and you get the shock
and soon of course
they are as stiff as a rock
other alive to the skinners
they go
in outside markets
their sold and they know
hung up on big hooks
and their skin is ripped off
imagine the pain of that
I hear, some scoff

scoff if you will
the blood that they spill
egregious pain again and again
the pelt goes one way
the body another
mother perhaps
with a sister
or brother
bleed out in heaps
often in hot sun
that when you know
your fucking days done

and whats it all for
for some spotty whore
some hag of bag
who the world would ignore
till she puts on the skins
of dead animals and she
thinks she is lovely
she is grotesquely

those of your out there
designers of fur
and shops who think its right
we better confer
its a miserable business
with oodles of pain
and it isnt fair
that you lot would gain

profit from killing
from murder from maiming
animals go mad
its not that I’m blaming
you if you’d think
what you are doing
then you
want stop it at once
that is my view

you are being clueless
heartless and cold
letting the fur trade
count piles of gold
whilst you do the dirty side
you take the rap
the take the accolades
you eat their crap

I feel for the animals
they are the ones
who suffer so much
the agony stuns
any who think about it
and they know
dealing in fur
bring a great share of woe