They are out there a chasing
Guts drooping with Turkey
Let’s feel sorry for the horses
Bearing up to their weight
How many I wonder
Gulped Port at their table
And woke up this morning
Hoping the fate
of the red fox
Whose hoping to find a meal
Obviously
Wandering wild in the forest
Now where
These huntsman parading
By really not aiding
The wild life around these parts
Except with despair
The sabs will be out there
Hunting the hunters
Biding their time
As the horseman ride by
The squirrel men cometh
Expletives and worse
Boxing Day meets
In the pub afterwards
Knocking back fino
It feels like a curse
As for the constabulary
If their on duty
Chasing the hunters
Will not be their thing
Drink before the night before
Nobody’s checking
Land rovers everywhere
What’s it all for
Far too much dead flesh
Mince pies and custard
Christmas cake cognac
And chocolate as well
The gift from Nature
A fox drawn and quartered
By a pack, of hounds
Seemingly all from hell.