Master and his horseman

Huge Meynell started it
Fox hunting the fool
It’s pertains to the upper crust
The countryside to rule
A pack of hungry hounds in tow
A wizen fox away
The unspeakable is happening
In a wood somewhere today
Despite the ban of years ago
These toffs enjoy the taste.
It’s fanciful and meaningful
When there’s no time to waste
Scarlet pink and those in black
Top hats if you will
We must dress up for the wily fox
Whose blood we need to spill

This is the schooner supping lads
Who meet in the
Local where
They get tanked up the Fino
And with the fox they share
A lot of good old banter
As for the SABS well they
Will get a bunch of fives
If they get in our way

It’s the height of ambiguity
A conundrum can I say
Why a group of men dressed up like twats
Ride about all day
Horns a blowing hounds a barking
Hoping to kill a soul
As wild as the wind that bloweth
Who takes a leading role

We have to ban this nonsense
It’s dupery and wrong
It’s bogus and it’s phoney
And just doesn’t belong
In England no not any more
These hunters think they know
Whatever the law says they don’t care
For its all part of the show

It’s tradition it’s the culture
Cowards in scarlet pink
Leaping over other people’s fences that’s the link
With trespassing
around the towns and countrysides
Where they
Divert through non hunters gardens
Disrupting all the way

Hunters should be knocked off their bold stallions
And placed within the stocks at the pool in Aldbury
Get some duff tomatoes and some real hard plums
And belt them, till of course they scream inordibly

we have to stop this carnage in our countryside
Tradition paints its picture and we see
And it feels wrong the bloody murder and the brush the mask and pads
All Trophies that are sick if you ask me