Who you calling a pest mr huntsman

Pest control
Those without soul
Are given reign
To fight and train
Hounds to chase
At such a pace
A frightened fox
Who takes their knocks

To be caught maybe
For eternity
To be its way out
How can we be
In this century
And still feel
Wild animals
Are not for real

They are never pests
The pests to me
Are the dressed up huntsman who
Arrogantly ride in anguish to
Crucify and do
To sacrifice each precious soul
And leave her bleeding in some hole
Set upon by starving hounds
Trained to run
And make the rounds
Trained to break serenity
The clatter of hooves
Sounds sad to me
The cry of the wild
The child within
Who is no pest
That excuse wears thin

Go back to your drawing boards I say
To your sherry swigging times of day
Leave the foxes well alone
Your so called culture is fully blown
Its passed it sell by date its no use
It isn’t sport its just abuse
Lords of the manor or squires at ease
Whoever you think you are now please
Sling your hooks lets keep the ban
Put the statutory instrument down the pan