Blake Barnett HUNTER

Whose a slave
The africans
And conservation means
We go and shoot at animals
If its within your means
Then call it what you want to call it
The trophy is the thing
Skip across to Africa
And don’t forget to bring
The rifle and the ammo
The indignity as well
Wild animals are fodder
And really who the hell
Cares who bloody shoots them
Thats what we choose to do
Suffering, who is suffering
Not the likes of you

Those wicked intentions
The dolour of it all
The anguish and the anger
Who is going to call
Who to account for this murdering game
Each pang of martyrdom
The wretchedness of misery
Will anybody claim

The trophy in an instant
Anyone at all
Crouching in the shadows
Watch a leopard fall
A solitary soldier
Out to claim a meal
Gunned down by a hunter
Who is going to reveal

That he stands for conservation
What he does is right
Takes a godly
creature
And enters the big fight
Is part of the killing field
The ambusher the man
Who bloody does what he wants to
To those shits I am no fan

TO breathe joy out of the evil
The anxiety of death
A living breathing noble soul
Bloodied without breath
Harrowed by a hunter
Who paid a lot of dough
A self seeking moron
Who doesn’t want to know