Ocean reality

This is what we get up to
Off taiji everyday
Until those rotten banging boats
Come steering down our way
Joyful and triumphant
Thats us, each curling thrust
Most would find us moving
The Japanese though bust
A gut they have no heart
No soul no feeling
All they want to do
Is slaughter us for breakfast
And on our smoked blubber chew
What truly is so beautiful
Are 200 or so souls
Bouncing out of
the water
Without the banging poles
Drawing air and swimming
Like the clapping bats from hell
Taiji is a hell hole
That only Broome can sell