Red Grouse

Up on the moors
In the dank wet places
Chateau Briand and red veined faces
Congregate in the killing fields
Shot gun crazies their soul urge wields
Lots of lead aimed at the birds
Actually I am lost for words
Stockbrokers Bankers and Diplomats
Get a brace killing the bird’s

Beaters beat
The birds fly high
The lead ignites
And that is no lie
The poor birds maddened take the hit
Many will spiral down
For a bit
Some in the streams
Toxically wither and die
The glorious 12th
They so apply.

Out on the moors
Rich men they
Fritter their capital clean away
Murdering red grouse
That’s what they do
Shot guns to the ready
All this true

Blood sports hate them
To the manor born
Noses in the air. The scorn
Placed on Nature hard done by
We
Who watch these idiots
Violently
Gulping the spirits
Chewing the steak
Most of them actually
Stay awake
Guts on fire
From all that cake
Spirits galore
A masculine mire
Caught up in a putrid fire