Shooters 2

Money is the fuel that grinds
Into the sweatiest pores
In the red dust and entrails
Internally the wars
Of what is illegality
The unlawfulness one feels
The unwritten constitution
The rebellion it reveals

The outback is at night
A wilderness of woes
When you hammer down the highway
Everything just goes
The red dust it gets everywhere
The spinifex does too
The tussock grass likes arid soils
Its tough and spikey view

Its spines are rich in silica
It prevents desertification
Termites rather thrive on it
For them its their salvation
The aboriginie use their fire sticks
Extracting resin which
Makes a strong adhesive
For spears in which to pitch

The seeds the birds and rodents eat
So its useful out there where
animals make their homes
In The bush is theres to share
The spines can break the skin
And fester so be careful when
You come to pick the triodia
No matter mice or men

Out there the shooters
Really havent got much in the way
Of true respect
This is the iconinc symbol
Of Australia, I detect
A shamlessness from most of them
Out to shoot the Roo
Get it in the headlights
A nice head shot will do

Shooters use lead bullets
Leads is toxic, we
Should never use lead anywhere
Environmentally
Its going to cause more problems
It builds up clearly,we
Should use another metal
But LEAD is cheap you see

When a male is shot it leaps up
And flips over
The shooter goes and drags it back
Its not like lambs in clover
They may not actually be shot through
So they are dragging a dying soul
And cutting into its body
To split its heart a role

The shooter then morphs into
The butcher in control
The head is first
Tossed in the bush
The tail is kept
For A dollar paid
The indigenous soup
Their stock in trade

Forepaws need repeated hacks
Blood and bone goes everywhere
Dont be talking lips closed tight
Or its in your mouth
Which won’t taste right
Clearly the females are lighter by far
And when the arms ache
Can be quite the star

Theres the uncleanness
The grossness we see
Be- heading a joey
Or stomping,a key
If the joey is bigger
Grab by the ears
And whack on a rock
Forget about tears

Its all about earning
The money to buy
The VB and getting it down yer
Thats why
Blood sweat and tears
And the kangaroo bone
Your own filthy sweat
Its when you feel alone

When the bush open up
Its great arms and you feel
Crushed by its vigour
For christ it feels real
From sun down to sun up
Its your killing spree
Covered in blood
And vile butchery

Who’d be a shooter
Who wants to descend
To life at this level
Your demons to fend
Off feeling groggy the rigours
They are there
And your driving all night
So the meat all can share

It will spoil without cold air
Thats very clear
We are sweating like pigs
Though pigs dont sweat I hear
No sweat glands thats why
So Mud baths make them feel
Cool But you know what I mean
Thats the deal

Shooters for me are the lowest of low
Just paid assassins slaughterers know
How to shoot and then butcher
A beautiful soul
With their families aware
Of whats now their role
Some of the skips in the cities
They think
ROo’s should be murdered
And that there is a link

With disease and with farming
And the Kangaroo
Should now be murdered
So what shooters do
Is supported by some
But they dont have a clue
Its the aboriginie people
Who know what to do

They will take out a young one
Or perhaps one thats lame
But 50 or 60 a night
What a game
Of murdering butchery
Wicked and wild
What to me is the unversed immaculate child

The iconic Kanga
Unblameworthy they
Rule the dense bush
Their virtues are way
Over the heads of the shooters around
With their heads up their arses
Well thats What I’ve found