Boy hunter

My dad is a hunter
Rifles pistols, he
Gets the finest ammo
And likes to take me
I am only eleven years old
A boy thats who I be
I hate the fact that animals die
When in fact they were free

To live out in the countryside
In all weathers they be
And my dad and his hunting pals
Kill them in front of me
A big red deer is so beautiful
Its colours startle,my
Eyes
It seems so peaceful
Bang!
Yes its its demise

Kicking in the underbrush
Its eyes still open wide
What can it see
Can it see me
I try to confide
Why does my father do this
What is the reason he
Gets dolled up in camouflage
And hides behind a tree

Using his long rifle
He fires
And that soul dies
For me a young boy growing up
My heart aches
The lies
Dad tells me
Conservation really how can that be?
These glorious animals part of Nature
i just want to see

Them every time I come here
Not kicking in the grass
Not dying really on my watch
I feel the biggest arse
For not appealing to my mum
Saying I don’t want to go
I don’t agree with killing
I do not want to know
Despite dads inclination
That men are men and they
Should stand up and be counted
i would rather stay away