Trophy hunting and the Royals

Sitting on the fence
Is clearly sometimes
Seen as safe
But such a cowardly way
Of putting out a statement
About hunting
Its two faced
Just trying to play
Into both camps
The hunters
And the others
And really thats the
Preference I feel
In your heart
You personally want to go and hunt
But you feel the tide a changing
And for real

Its alright killing old souls
Really is that so
What would your mother
Think on that young Will
When your old you are passed it
And the psychopaths can take you out
That really is a statement
Meant to chill

Hunters want prime models
For their trophy walls
Where sicko psycho’s
Come to gloat and swoon
And you try to absolve them
From that criminality
By sitting on the fence
With your balloon

For me all hunting of any soul
Is awful
The pheasants and the pigeons
And the grouse
The big game and the small game
And the Foxes of the field
Every bloody murder
Who ever does now wield

Their weapon and come looking
For the Grizzly or the Hare
Just to end its precious life
No the hunter doesn’t care
He wants his boost of adrenaline
He wants to feel the kill
He wants to see the blood spurt out
And so do you young Will

Sitting on the fence mate
To me is really wrong
But then you Royals live
Precious lives and have so all along
You have your own opinion
And I sir I have mine
Hunting to me is criminal
And nothing about it is fine

Going out into the world and fighting against hunting whilst hunting yourself is a sick pastime in my book
Have the courage to be one or the other