“Game”

The gentry and the loaded
The so called upper class
The royals and those who know them
The nobility who pass
as lords and their ladies
They can look down on us all
The working class the bourgeois
The rustic folk that tend to be
Unlike the squires and countrymen
Who own a gun and use it when
The season rolls around each year
Their desire to shoot brings them their cheer

100,000 birds a day shot out of the skies
To rot away
In the death pits
Where wounded souls
Are lost to the world
But are one of the goals
Of the shooting class
Of the upper set
And the wild ones suffer
And you bet
the cats and dogs and hen harriers too
Slaughtered so the game can fly and woo

The nobility the rich who come
The Pheasants the Partridges the Grouse
And some
others
Factory farmed are they
And shot to death
With the lead shot spray

Burning grouse moors pollution and more
Lead shot goes everywhere and whats more
Such indifference and clueless too
The pain and suffering which all through
Suggests to me these loveless fools
Are not prepared to live by the rules
They glory in death and think nothing of pain
Blue blooded nobleman the upper strain
The knights and the rich and the made it and more
Hunt and shoot and of course ignore

The countryside and the brethren there
The haughty the lofty the snobs who bare
Their arrogant status to one and all
The brash and the bumptious who as a rule
Throw their money around the place
Its something the rest of us have to face
The aristocracy the upper class
The so called genteel the elite that pass
Excellent breeding stately they think
Distinguished and dignified cultured
The link
to caring for wild souls
Woodcock and deer
Hare fox and Rabbit
If they appear

Bang goes the gun
The sport of the kings
Which sets them apart from the
Sad underlings

Thats us those who care about animal rights
Who wince when they see the wild ones whose flights
Are cut down by guns fired off of the ground
The lead shot goes everywhere that what i ‘ve found
So they care not a bit and deny everything
Chase the fox with the hounds
Out there they are king

Terrier men with their spades
All will die
Tally ho off we go
With no word of a lie

The wild Hen Harriers are almost all gone
The gamekeepers see to them
Out there upon
The wilds paid to do this
And of course they do
For the hunters and shooters
And hostelry too

They scratch each other backs
Thats how it goes
The victims are all of us
Under our nose
We live on the outskirts
And suffer the pain
But are speechless to comment
The wordless refrain

Millions are wounded
They die all alone
In so much agony
Lowering the tone
Its all about game
About shooting a brace
But its not for the pot
But the pit
And disgrace

Its out there we dwellers
Of city and town
We know it goes on
We know they come down
Into the river to drown
All a flap
Left in the trees
To rot with the sap
Food for the maggots
Lead everywhere
To poison and pollute
And to not be aware

35 million souls every year
Shot to death
All that carnage
And ongoing fear

And now some women are at it too
Why oh why
Do they want to do
Murder the wild birds
On the shoot
Why kill animals
A social root
To freedom no ladies
Its all crap
The shooting industry
In a flap

Wanting mire business
Selling it well
Driving the wild birds
Into hell
Cloth caps and Barbour’s
All that power
Of slaughtering wild birds
Hour after hour

Stop the slaughter
You don’t have to kill
To be sociable