The Toffs

Vermin that’s the word they use
For our four legged friend
A wild soul who is in control
It sends folk around the bend
For me they are gorgeous animals
Wily and on form
Beautiful little creatures
Who create their own shit storm

Breeding, loving families
Vermin they are not
Hunters call them all sorts
But to me those folk talk rot
So called toffs they look down
On the likes of, us
A truly animal lover
And observer yes no fuss

Chasing them around the countryside
Sometimes on MOD land
And upon the National Trust
I just don’t understand
The nation and the coppers
Who let them break the law
Torturing their hound dogs
And starting an open war

Against the brilliant foxes
Crimson tails and I
Love them and their little ones
None of them should die
Being chased and ravaged
By a load of wearisome hounds
Toffs with leather breeches
Yes doing the rounds

Talking up the skylarks
The rabbits and the rest
Foxes have their place in life
They fill me with true zest
They were put in wooded zones
Their parentage is keen
Having to contend with hunts
The vile and the obscene

A law was passed. Via Labour
I think it came from Blair
Hunting with dogs is against the law
How can it be fair
Yet hunts all around the country
Under the shadows they are
Torturing and hurting
Our foxes yes they scar
They tear to bits the dog
Who runs
Sometimes the vixen too
Leaving the cubs to starve
Under the earth
It’s what they do

Sad heads evil brutish scum
Sorry folks but I
Hate the fact that they get away
With trail hunting and foxes die
Dressed up toffs their whip hand
Their expletives by the score
Being unkind to the saboteurs
Who they openly ignore.