Yulin in Guangxi

Hatred you can feel it
Cut it with a knife
The aura of aversion
And, ending of life
Which the Chinese call
A festival
A Summer Solstice meal
Lychees and dead dog flesh
Thats what they reveal

Thousands of stolen
Dogs and street dogs
Are caught
Bundled into cages
Hostility is sought
Scowling operatives
Butchery
Wrath and fear
All feel
Growling wailing pining
Their lamentation real

Cussedness and bitchiness
Stingy selfish sods
With all the worst intentions
Clearly think they are gods
Able to take sweet lives away
As painfully as they can
Making their excuses
Before they reach the pan

Torturing the living
Tenderises meat
Burning them and harming
Them
Its when you get the treat
That everyone is after
A healing tonic too
Eat with the sweet lychees
The whole bowl good for you

Yulin is a horrid place
A festival to where
Only evil hearted folk
Would, ever go there
Many dogs are rabid
From living in the street
On scraps and of course carrion
They just eat any meat

Flyblown full of maggots
Excrements as well
Drugged up experimentation
Even them they sell
The brutality behind closed doors
Ill-wishing and ill-willed
Disobliging tyrannical
The saddest thing blood spilled

In place to protect the innocent
And innocent they be
They might have been somebodys pet
Stolen horribly
One minute being cuddled
The next kicked to the floor
Beaten burnt and tortured
Really more and more

Yulin is a evil place
The festival of sin
Where wrongdoers and villains go
And you can hear the din
Behind the doors
The killing floors
The butchery the blood
The mucus and the awful screams
And each dreadful thud

As bodies are thrown everywhere
Chopped in boiling vats
Everywhere is rotten
The places filled with rats
Roaches comes to rumble
Its unfitting and its wrong
In this present day and age
This shit hole cannot belong

And we hear the animals are often starved
Before
And then their mouths forced open
And the hosepipe and some more
Water fills their bodies up
More weight so to say
They then get off the butchers
Sold by weight a con all day

No honour among these traders
All out to make a killing
They would sell their mother
For an extra shilling
Throw in a three legged dog
Smothered in mange and fleas
Cook the whole lot in a pot
And Serve with sweet lychees

The contempt for diners
Whose judgement is at odds
Who come to eat such scant respect
Where are all their Gods
Where are all their souls and hearts
What gives them the right
To torture and to eat dead dogs
That just exude pure light