Grouse moors

I wish to say how much I hateThese grouse moor
Shooting fiends
Pumping lead shot everywhere
Contaminating scenes
Medicated grit the shit
They talk the rich who bitch
Burning Heather glorious Heather
Just because they are rich

Attracting fat arse ignorants
Who slaughter wild life who
Are enemies of foxes of badgers and
Stoats who do
Nothing except prevail on gods earth
Natives of the place
Weasels crows the gifted souls
Who came with the goddesses grace

Shooting grouse is criminal
Destruction of the moor
Spreading chemicals here and there
So many just ignore
The ignorance aforethought
Entertainment they
Murder birds I am lost for words
What they do each day

Muir burn smoke and filth and garbage
So called shooting estates
They get together chomping drinking
Chucking out their plates
Shooting salvos of lead shot
Up into the air
The
Grouse so many wounded
Who die there in a lair
Of water pond whatever
And the lead shots fills our streams
All these nasty buggers
Demons in our dreams.

The League against cruel sports
The angels of the wing
They gave time and money
And help wild folk to sing
The Poet bard is writing hard
To try and stop the rot
Leave the moors alone you rotters