Poor taste

Hardly a tag to selling an ale
How can it be a marketing tale
On the back of a dead Lion
The hunters arise
With the beer in a glass
They hail his demise

Is this a saleable product
I ask
Is there a demand I take them to task
To brazenly peddle a brew in poor taste
Its hardly good sense
Which has to be faced

An iconic earthling like Cecil
Should be
Given respect not trounced actually
Lured from a safe place
And shot in the throat
Tracked 40 hours
Thats nothing of note
To any bold hunter
Of daring or nerve
For me all I see
Is a big downward curve

lion lager
That gives us a bit of a roar
Its total tastelessness
One to ignore
Shoddy and tawdry
And there’s no reason why
Anyone anywhere really should buy

Its just a travesty
A vulgar routine
To make fun of the dead
Is incredibly mean
To poke fun and deride
Those around the world who
Felt a true empathy
Just coming through

And to bolster ill feeling
A bandwagon caught
Alienating Those who all thought
The rancour and bitterness
Shown by the few
Should be buried along
With the canned hunting crew

lion lager a name on a tin
That is all
They jump on the wagon
Which must appal
Anyone really with half a brain
And to do this for Africa
Its just insane