Fox

why are foxes victims
A wild soul of the field
A vixen and three little cubs
A family he must build
All the pressure on him
To hunt and find the food
And with hunters out there
Chasing
His fate seems surely slewed

Its all about tradition
Its what country people do
Its all about society
And its not just for a few
Having a horse and joining a hunt
And having dogs in tow
And going after vermin
The practice it does grow

The countryside alliance
Says its whats its members do
To ban it is ridiculous
Because we are clueless to
The need to rid the countryside
Of the fox and of his kin
Of hares or rabbits or even Deers
How dare we call it sin

Its their ancestry and lineage
Its what the family does
Its creativeness and inventiveness
You really get that buzz
Riding freely through the grasses
Over hills and dales
Its synonymous with living
Following those trails

It restores your equilibrium
Its prodigious and its good
Its where you are superior
Collectively understood
Not playing second fiddle
To the grey suits anymore
The freedom out on horseback
Nobody can ignore

There is unity and oneness
Entrenched in history
Ofcourse its an adventure
That happens regularly
Posterity is on our side
Its a red blooded pursuit
And when the hounds catch up with it
We kill the little brute

Its always energetic its forceful
And robust
The excitement of the chase is there
How some talk of disgust
The saboteurs and their hangers on
Distrupting where they can
Unenlightened moonless dimwits
Policing the ban

Mrs May loves hunting
As do the tory clan
Most live in the countryside
And realise the ban
Was never universal
The fox the hare the deer
Its plausible to realize
Why it is they are here

As regards the hunters
Their pageantry and pomp
Their flagrancy and blatancy
On every single romp
Their swagger and their showing off
The heroics all can see
Cut a dash and make a splash
Its just pure history

For me its impoliteness
Boorishness they be
So called grown ups
Chasing one small victim
Constantly
Riding roughshod over land
Tempers always high
They are the anathema
And really that is why

Hunting is so odious
And offensive for today
Its all about their dander
How we are in their way
They are sullen and forbidding
And belly aching bunch
Jaundiced and dyspeptic
Ready to throw a punch

Always they are cursing
Thunder from their breast
Profanities
They have them all
They always try to test
The patience of the angels
Who suffer constantly
The menace and collective threats
And the misogyny

The sniffiness the snootiness
Up there on their horse
They whip they ride into us
As a matter of course
And ofcourse there are always
Bovver boys around to give us grief
Normally carrying a stick or two
It beggars belief

They have no care of wild folk
Or of the countryside
Unvirtuous and immoral
Unfortunately the tide
Has turned and more and more of us
Are against the shit they do
And that they are allowed to get away
With so much which is true

Trespass and transgression
They are born without remorse
They ride down roads and frighten
And ofcourse they use their force
They are unashamed and heartless
Without compunction they
Given half the chance
Would kill a fox yes right away

Watch the hounds tear it apart
The lowest of the low
Dressed up in their hunting gear
Tosspots as we know
Hunting with their packs of hounds
Is illegal through and through
Actually they are criminals
Doing what they do