Fox hunting

Laying a scent trail through barbed wire
Laying a scent trail through
Someone’s private garden
Or a churchyard, or two
These dressed up toffs in tight leather pants
With a olive in their gob
Tally Ho it’s the way to go
When you are but a yob

Out early at Cub hunting
Chasing down those souls
Little babies hardly weaned
Simply no controls
Squirrel men about the place
Threatening the foe
Putting dogs on little foxes
Anywhere they go

Fox hunting is against the law
Blair saw that was so
But still port supping schooner glasses
Yes the tally ho
After little foxes
All they want to do
Is chase and kick and chase and kick
And run the buggers through

All these so called hunting types
What we need to do is a dig a hole and put them in it
Let them concoct a view
The forest has its own wild souls
And hunters are a pain
Yes Chasing around the countryside
with less than half a brain.